Clarence Adaar: Kleptomaniac Slut to the Rescue!
by kurosora1984
Summary: In which the Herald of Andraste steals everything in sight, bangs everyone willing to be banged, and saves the world or something, probably. Eventually. And somehow, Bull and Dorian hook up. Like you do.


**Author's Note:**

Well...I got a Twitter. (a)SalemSorted, if you don't wanna lose track of me.

THIS story is actually 25 chapters long, but the chapters are all short, the mood whimsical, and I wasn't going to post it here because I could NOT be bothered to sort out 25 chapters in ffnet's posting system. So instead, here they are all in one. Even this was a pain. But I'm trying. ^_^

* * *

**Chapter 1: Varric versus The Herald of Andraste**

Varric was still a little sore about the knife hole in his book, to be honest—sure, other copies had been printed, but when an author has a baby, and all—so he was privately enjoying the sight of Cassandra slowly turning redder and redder as the Chantry threw accusations, the Templars acted like monsters, and the Herald of Andraste refused to take any of it seriously.

When Adaar took a keen interest in the struck-down revered mother, however, things seemed to be improving. Adaar had suddenly turned into a gentle giant, petting the lady and asking if she was all right…and only slightly hinting that he'd be willing to make her feel better in the purely carnal sense. The innuendo was vague enough to skip the mother's notice, though Cassandra frowned and looked ready to haul him bodily away from the woman, regardless of his size. But then Adaar got up and walked away placidly on his own.

It was only five minutes later, once they were well out of sight, that he cheerily flipped a Chantry medallion a few times before pocketing it, and Varric was left a little impressed, honestly. He'd gotten a pretty heavy pendant off someone while everyone watched and not been caught—somehow. Maybe he was secretly a mage after all?

Cassandra's grinding teeth were audible even over the crowd in the square.

A fellow in mage robes prevented her wrath, however, by coming up to speak to the Herald and extend an invitation.

"A party?" Adaar leaned over the human man, grinning. "And will you be there, may I ask?"

"Ah, no milord, not likely…"

Faux dismay, easily bent back into a winning smile. "No? Ah, such a shame. I would love to have a chance to chat, get to know you better. Do you know, that robe-thing you're wearing suits you _magnificently_."

_Confusion_. "Naturally, milord. Madam de Fer would not see her people poorly dressed."

A giant grin. "Well, she's made sure you're exquisitely dressed…and I would like to beg the privilege of making you exquisitely _un_dressed."

Solas chuckled quietly as Varric enjoyed the sight of the Seeker's face…and the messenger's for that matter. The man took several long moments to compose himself and pull back from the Herald of Andraste's light, teasing caresses. "No thank you, milord."

A _tsk_. "Pity. Ah well. Farewell, handsome!"

Adaar tossed a gilded pin in the air and caught it—after they were out of sight.

Cassandra sounded like every word was a death threat in disguise: "Are you going to attend the salon, _Herald?_"

A snort. "Pff. _No._ Sipping _eu de baloney_ and listening to a bunch of nobles prattle and fawn on some _Duke de Gimp-pain_, no thanks. Fuck nobles and their politics, and not the fun way." Then he paused, rethinking, and amended with much gravitas, "Actually, I'll fuck nobles the fun way, sure. But they can come to me for that."

"It is your _duty_ to help us find _allies_ for the _Inquisition_," Cassandra bit out.

"I am!" Adaar blinked, innocent and surprised. Then he pointed, "Look! Another red thingy! Let's get it!" He grabbed up the handkerchief and pocketed it instantly. "See?"

"What does the note say?" Solas mildly prompted.

"Oh! Uhh…hang on."

As Adaar stepped into the light, a plate left on a nearby table vanished into his jacket.

**Chapter 2: Advisors versus The Slut**

Leliana had played the Grand Game quite successfully for a decent amount of time. What did it matter that she primarily worked in the shadows and dealt in secrets now? She could still see through people with little trouble.

She would not have lived this long if she could be fooled by an insincere smile.

"Blackwall, is it? I'll go find him for you right away, beautiful!" The Herald of Andraste leaned closer, just a tad inside Leliana's personal space. "Don't tell me he's someone important to you? You'll break my heart, love." This, purred in the most obvious manner possible.

_Well…perhaps not quite. _Leliana had already discovered firsthand that Adaar could be even more obvious than this. "I have never met Warden Blackwall," she answered coolly, "but he could well have valuable information. Please send me a message as soon as you find him."

"If I bring him, will you reward me with a kiss?" That constant, irrepressible grin.

Leliana just gave the Herald a steady look, then turned and walked away. _Honestly, what was Andraste thinking, choosing him?_

She passed Cullen, on his way back out to the troops, and nodded. "Commander."

"Cullen!" This, called from behind her, as cheerful as only an idiot could be. "Wanna fuck me yet?"

Leliana could just hear the commander's distant sigh; his footfalls didn't slow or falter.

-o-

Josephine had played the Grand Game and seen scandal aplenty in Val Royeaux—everywhere, really. People were marvelously creative with their assignations, and nothing had shocked her in quite some time.

That Clarence Adaar was different was not really any credit to _him_, specifically. It was more due to his position. The implied sanctity of someone Andraste specifically chose…and the much more potent scandal of his salacious behavior.

"The bandit chief had cost her almost a quarter of her harvest with his raids, see. She wanted his head. There was a lot of hinting that she would be happiest with it detached…" The Herald shrugged. "But that would have been too easy."

"So what did you do?" Josephine leaned forward.

Adaar placed his hands on the edge of her desk and leaned down, his face alive with delight—so handsome, for a grey-skinned qunari. "I found out the road he'd be taking. He left most of his company encamped and went to meet a buyer in town. He had two lieutenants with him coming back. I waited along the side of the road—_naked._"

Josephine's eyes widened. "No!"

A grin. "I set it up like I'd been robbed, beaten and stripped and left for dead. He came upon me, took one look at my bare ass, and had me hauled back to his camp." Adaar licked his lips. "They were nice enough to feed me and warm me up first, and then he very frankly explained how I could repay him for his help. I…obliged." A wink. "And when he was done, I obliged half the camp."

Face hot, Josephine covered her mouth to stifle her gasp. "Herald!"

A lazy shrug. "Then I slipped him a little sleeping drug, and when damn near all his men were passed out after, I dragged him back to the noble's estate. She had a grand stone archway in her bedchambers. I bound him up—stark naked, of course—and left him there for her to find. Oh, while she was in the room. Asleep."

"You couldn't possibly…!"

"She woke up to find her bound and nude nemesis there, helpless against her vengeance…or, you know, _whatever_. I've no idea what she did with him, but we were sent a generous bonus with the payment."

"How perfectly delightful!" Josephine cleared her throat. "And shocking."

"Then there was this other time with a bandit stronghold—you wouldn't believe how many bandits there are in Thedas, honestly—when the boss gave me four guys to take the whole place down. Palisades all around, and about thirty or thirty-five heavily armed warriors inside, right?"

"It sounds impossible! What did you do?"

"Well, there was this inn, in the town nearby. I broke in and stole some…articles of clothing."

"You mean…?"

"I dressed us all up as exotic dancers—barely covered, let me tell you. I mean, in the right light, the fabric was sheer, and you could get a pretty clear measure of what we had to work with."

Josephine's eyes were sparkling.

Leliana turned away from the partly opened door and decided to come back later.

-o-

When the Herald of Andraste stopped near Cassandra and cleared his throat like he wanted to talk, those nearby paid attention. There were bets in play already—the specific type of damage, who would inflict it, and when. All these things were crucial.

"Go on, then."

Smirk. "I'd rather get off. Or get _you_ off."

"_Ugh._"

**Chapter 3: Sera versus The Cock**

"So, this is it, huh? I thought it'd be bigger." Sera immediately started cackling.

Maryden was watching and listening—purely for professional reasons, of course. Whatever songs there were to sing about the Inquisition would require accurate details on all the members, not to mention the Herald, of course. So she was privy to his immediate, broad grin, and then…

"Thought it'd be bigger? Not bloody likely!"

The Herald of Andraste stood up…and pulled his trousers down.

The Singing Maiden sounded forth one unified gasp, as Sera shrieked with laughter. "Ew! Put it away!"

Andraste's holy prophet swung his hips at her, completely oblivious to the rest of the room—every jaw hanging open, every eye peeled wide.

"Nobody expects bigger than this, Jenny Girl!"

Sera could barely breathe, choking on horrified and delighted laughter. "Ewwwww! It's flopping about! Put it away, nobody wants to see your dangly bits!"

_Oh Sera,_ Maryden thought. _On the contrary._

The entire tavern was riveted.

Laughing, the Herald finally replaced his trousers, hiding away the…substantial anatomical feature.

"It gets bigger than that, too," the man grinned, flopping back into his chair—with no concern for the poor wood, which creaked ominously under the giant qunari. The Maiden remained silent. _Very_ attentive to every word. "Give you a chance to play with it and find out any time you like, my pretty."

Half the patronage looked on the brink of swooning, but Sera just made a face. "Ugh, no thanks. Sausages are shite. Give me a pair of tits big enough to knock your brains out any day."

"Fuckin' right!" the Herald exclaimed, leaning forward and slapping the table, not even a flicker of disappointment at rejection. Then he leaned closer and whispered something too low for Maryden to hear. But if Sera's giggle and the direction of her glance were any indication, it was about Flissa.

Flissa was standing in a red-faced daze and didn't notice.

-o-

"You're a bloody liar."

"Maker's honest truth, I'm not. Ask _anyone_. We were all in here, we all saw it."

"Maker's arse. Of all the days to waste time getting a little extra training in. I can't believe I missed it."

"You think…?"

"What?"

"I mean, what if that's why he's the chosen of Andraste. …You know?"

A long pause.

"Been at the Maker's side a long time, after all."

-o-

_Oh Andraste she was married_  
_When she was sweet and young._  
_Old Maferath weren't brave or fair_  
_But he was fairly hung._

_Andraste liked him long enough_  
_But didn't think him wide,_  
_And off she went when he got soft_  
_To be the Maker's bride._

_The Maker kept her happy_  
_On golden throne or golden walls,_  
_Singin' all His praises_  
_Through the Golden City's halls._

_Then Andraste met an oxman_  
_Whose horns were broad and tall_  
_And she chose herself a Herald,_  
_The biggest of them all!_

Maryden had _not_ written that. She was currently working on a song about Sera, actually, but as soon as someone in the tavern would start singing, the whole place was a loss.

**Chapter 4: Iron Bull versus Adaar versus Dragons**

The Iron Bull wasn't surprised by the Herald's reaction to his honesty—he was Vashoth. Not Tal-Vashoth—that would have been even worse—but he still wasn't happy to discover he was talking to a Ben-Hassrath. But, credit where it was due—he put his personal feelings aside for the sake of his job. He was suspicious, but the Iron Bull was hired, and then invited to join the Herald and two elves for a walk down the beach.

Apparently, all those swamped and abandoned boats needed to be searched. When there was a chest, Adaar got into it. And even when all he found was a helmet, he grabbed it up like some kind of treasure.

"Mine!"

"Uh, boss? You can't wear that, you've got horns."

The Herald made a face at him, then hung the helmet from one curved horn and grinned. "There!"

_How old is this guy supposed to be?_ Maybe the Ben-Hassrath information had been a little off.

"Hmm? Yeah, spindleweed is good too, but tell me if you see blood lotus, I need it for…hey, what's that?"

The party followed the Herald's pointing finger. Way down the beach, the Bull thought he saw something move.

Sera snorted. "Nug."

"You can see that?"

"Sure, easy."

"Elves can see well at a distance, and in the dark," the other one, Solas, volunteered quietly. The Bull was already keeping a close eye on that one, simply because he was the least noticeable.

"Bet you can't hit it," Adaar grinned at the girl.

Sera rolled her eyes, strung an arrow, and barely glanced where her shot was going, but they heard the distant squeal a moment later. Adaar was impressed and excited. He counted the paces until they reached the thing. Grabbing the dead nug, he beamed at Sera. "Shit, girl, you sure you won't get on my dick? That was hot!"

A snort. This was apparently already expected behavior. "Piss off." Sera grabbed her arrow back—a little quick, like she was worried it was going to vanish. Adaar laughed.

Onward they walked.

Then, just rounding a rock, the ground shook…and there was a deafening roar.

The Bull felt every inch of his body light up. "Okay, that is _bad ass!_"

Sera giggled and snuck closer to watch the dragon—_a dragon_, first day on the job, shit yeah!—snap at a lumbering giant. "Wow! We can watch, yeah?"

But Adaar had a gloss over his eyes, and his feet kept pulling him forward. "Oh fuck, look at that," he murmured. "Oh…that's…oh _fuck!_"

"Hey boss? Maybe we should hang back a bit." Not that the Bull _wanted_ to. He _wanted _to get in there as much as Adaar did, but he had a good idea what their chances were. The team was _not_ outfitted for taking on a dragon.

Adaar didn't hear him.

Suddenly, the dragon took off and swept out over the sea. "No, no! Wait come back, damn it!" Adaar rushed forward—much too close. The giant turned and started stomping their way.

They all sprang into action, but the "fight," such as it was, mostly consisted of them trying to slow the giant down while they ran for their lives. They barely made it back around the rock and out of sight.

"That may not have been the best course of action," Solas panted.

"Shite!"

The Bull was bleeding, and Adaar was more than bleeding—he could barely put any weight on one leg. Still, he was grinning like an idiot. "That dragon is _mine_. Soon as I can figure out where she's nesting…_unh_." He stabbed at the air. "We are going dragon-hunting boys!"

_With any luck, that will take a while_, the Bull thought.

They headed back to camp.

-o-

The Herald could close Fade rifts, though—the Bull had to give him that. He did seem to mostly find them while scouring the countryside for loot, but when the demons came at them, Adaar was pretty good.

He managed to find a couple traces of Grey Wardens, but only because he was searching abandoned campsites. The results were inconclusive, and Adaar didn't seem to care. Wardens apparently didn't interest him much at all.

The Blades of Hessarian interested him more, but once he'd successfully beaten their leader, it became clear why. Anything of value in the stronghold—and a great many things of no value at all—immediately ended up in the Herald's possession. The now-obedient Blades were given the task of "finding more cool shit" for their new leader.

_Well, if it helps…_

The Chargers headed back to Haven, and the Bull started composing his initial report. _"Dear Par Vollen, You'll be interested to hear that the bas leader can be distracted by anything shiny or possessing a reasonably fit body. A good-looking merchant with a bag full of trinkets would have his attention for days…"_

-o-

Krem stuck close, once they got to Haven.

"His pick-up lines are as bad as your jokes, Chief."

The Iron Bull was soon privy to the full truth of this, as Clarence Adaar continued to hit on his lieutenant every time he passed by. The Bull himself was not an immediate target of blatant flirting—one of the few people in Haven to be spared, it seemed. But Adaar's suspicion of the Ben-Hassrath didn't keep him from _looking_, and the Bull expected that he'd know the exact day when the Herald began to trust him. They'd probably end up fucking before the day was out.

Krem slowly relaxed, though, as he got to see what the Bull had already picked up on—that Adaar's flirting didn't mean you were any sort of a special target. Apparently, to him, "Fancy a fuck?" was just a greeting, like how other people would say "Good morning," or "How are you?"

"What happened to that dagger grip I was working on?" Harritt, grumbling around the forge.

An apprentice: "Don't know, Ser, but the Herald came by half an hour ago."

A heavy sigh. "Right, then."

**Chapter 5: Iron Bull versus The Slut's Preferential Fuckery**

Despite his charming promises to Leliana, Iron Bull could see in an instant that the Herald had no plans to search for a Warden. He made no effort to track the man down on their extensive mission to the Hinterlands.

Fortunately, a tip about a "special reward" for a bit of blood lotus got Adaar's attention. Thus, they ended up at Lake Luthias, and they could hardly miss the gaggle of farmers across the way—and thus Adaar stumbled upon Warden Blackwall after all.

Bandits dealt with and questions dutifully asked, it seemed to be all about to come to nothing when the Warden asked about joining the Inquisition. Adaar had already given him the once-over, but now he gave it again—slower.

_Here we go…_

"Hmm. You look like a sturdy fellow. Stout warrior type, right?" A grin. "Very hairy, aren't you?"

"Uhhh…I don't see what any of that has to do with…"

"Well, come along then—why not? You can stay in _my_ tent tonight, handsome."

Camp was dangerously close, but fortunately someone tried to kill them on the way, and while Adaar was looting corpses after, Varric managed to take the new guy aside for a second.

"Look, don't share his tent, okay?"

"What? …Why?"

"There's no time to explain, Hero. Just…trust me. No one shares a tent with Adaar if they want to get any _sleep._ Get my meaning?"

"Uhh…"

"Hey! Another toy soldier thingy!" Adaar held his trophy up with delight. "This is going in my collection!" Then, bouncing to his feet, "All right, lads, off we go. You—handsome. Here we are, just over this way…"

Blackwall was wrapped up by a big grey arm around his shoulders. He didn't seem to have figured it out yet.

He got it after Adaar groped him.

Blackwall moved his pack to a new tent, Adaar pulling a sad puppy face behind him. "No. Thank you, but no. I prefer…female company, in such matters."

"What _really?_" Adaar gave up following Blackwall, his lament more for the entire camp at large. "_Another _man who won't fuck me? I happen to really like men, you know! This is depressing!"

Varric shrugged. "Hey, sorry and all, but maybe if you asked Tiny here…"

"Ha!"

_Still scared of the Ben-Hassrath, then._ Bull would give it a few more weeks, maybe, before he started really trying to chisel that fear down.

-o-

"Watch yourself. The pretty ones are the worst."

It was a fruitless warning. Adaar wasn't watching _himself,_ at all.

"Suspicious friends you have here." The newcomer—_a Vint mage, great_—spared him a glance. Then his gaze darted back to the Herald…then back to Bull. Almost like he was measuring them against each other.

Adaar's gaze, on the other hand, was quite fixed.

The Vint weathered the admiring looks with grace and ease. He seemed pleased by them, even.

Adaar was very reluctant to leave and let the pretty man out of his sight.

Sera was less impressed.

"Blah, blah, oh, look at me, I'll just kill all these demons myself, easy-peasy!"

Quietly, from Bull's blind side—_damn it_—"Actually, he acquitted himself quite well."

Adaar _moaned_. "_Yeah_ he did. And I'm gonna acquit _my_self _so _damn good thinking about him. And then I'm coming back here to find him again and I'm going to acquit _him_ like a…" Adaar slipped into very broken Qunlat that was derived from an expression of extreme appreciation, but due to Adaar's misuse of verb tense and a certain word, it came out meaning something like _the one I desire is constipated in my throat._

Bull coughed. "Boss? I don't think that means what you think it means."

"What doesn't?"

"…_Any_ of that."

**Chapter 6: Dorian versus Haven's Own Errol Flynn**

In the debriefing after Redcliff, the time travel story made quite a stir. Then, as soon as the advisors were made to understand that Dorian had been thrown into the future and left to wander around Redcliff castle—alone with the Herald—until their other companions could be found…

Well. It wasn't a _stir. _But then all eyes were on him, suddenly—staring. Not, however, one of the many types of stares he was used to receiving. It looked like…overwhelming sympathy.

This seemed to be confirmed when the commander clasped his shoulder briefly in a rather brotherly gesture, and the Antivan dipped her head, commenting that he was "a brave soul, who clearly bore the ordeal quite well." The spymaster silently nodded. Dorian glanced around at all this and then looked over at the Herald.

The rather impressively large qunari man was grinning at him, leaning against a wall and clearly oblivious to everyone else in the room.

_Ah._

Admittedly, during the whole mess, Adaar _had_ managed to find time to pay him some rather warm compliments. And Dorian was not naïve—he saw the looks and understood them. Appreciated them, even, but at the time, red lyrium was giving him a massive headache, and there were more important things to focus on.

Now…

Adaar shadowed him outside afterward, and seemed very intent on chatting. They ended up standing about for quite a long time, while Dorian shuddered internally at the snow all around and noticed the sympathetic glances from the elf across the way. The Herald was finally called away by a very angry woman with short, dark hair.

Shortly thereafter, Dorian was looking through his pouch for some coin and noticed his favorite pen was missing.

-o-

Just before the attack on Haven, Dorian spotted Adaar in a dark corner, passionately kissing someone whose face he couldn't see—but she was a she, judging by the dress and the curves and the hair. Then, within five minutes, Adaar was leading a battle against red lyrium-corrupted Templars and kicking in burning doors to swoop to the rescue of people Dorian barely recognized after so short a time in Haven. It was the stuff of swashbuckling adventure legend, only the hero this time was even more muscular and shirtless than usual, being qunari.

He just seemed to be having the hardest time tearing himself away from…the corpses.

"Boss! More incoming!"

"I know, I know, just a second!"

The Herald was quickly frisking one fallen Templar after another. So far, he hadn't found anything as immediately useful as an elfroot potion, but he'd collected two daggers that were worthless compared to the ones he was currently wielding, and several lockets and other knick-knacks one could hardly make use of in the midst of battle.

"Herald!" Cassandra bellowed at him. "Get _up!_ We must move! Leave the rest!"

With an expression of desperation, Adaar gazed at the three other fallen he hadn't managed to search. Then, agonized: "_Fine!_" And he ran over to join them just in time to backstab one of the two warriors Cassandra was trying to keep off Dorian's back while he called lightning upon the group.

It was certainly a…revealing battle.

-o-

They were temporarily camped in a snow-laden valley, just long enough for the scouts to make a quick survey before they moved on again, when Dorian heard Cullen call out. He was moments behind the commander when they discovered Adaar—just in time to witness the muscled giant topple into the commander's arms. Cullen was nearly crushed before Krem caught one arm, and a moment later Dorian grabbed the other, sparing the commander a flattening in the snow.

Adaar was slipping unconscious, but he murmured, "My hero…heroes." And then something indistinct that sounded like "show my 'preciation…nice, long fff…later."

His greyish lips were purple-blue. They tried to drag him toward the fire, but they couldn't get very far until the other qunari, that Iron Bull, arrived and picked the Herald up.

So.

They survived. And then the leaders of the Inquisition named Clarence Adaar their Inquisitor—a kleptomaniac with an irrepressible sex drive, the would-be savior of Thedas.

**Chapter 7: Varric versus Hawke's Libido**

It was good to see Hawke, even if it meant weathering the Seeker's fury…again. Adaar intercepted the attempted beating—very nice guy, that Adaar. He saved Varric's ass, and he didn't seem to mind at all that Varric hadn't summoned Hawke weeks ago. Of course, he probably also didn't want to piss Cassandra off too much either, so he was trying to be diplomatic—easy to understand. He hoped to get in her pants; he teased about wanting the same from Varric, but they'd already settled on a _no_ for that idea.

Varric apologized again, later. Adaar waved him off cheerfully. He supported Varric's actions more than _Varric_ did, really. He also stole one of Varric's notebooks, and when talking to Hawke on the battlements of Skyhold he was as shameless as ever, even with Varric right there listening.

_Oh well._

At least Hawke was around for a short while. It had been a long time since they had a chance to chat over a few drinks, maybe play some Wicked Grace and just forget about the mage rebellion and other fugitive problems. Varric was looking forward to a nice, long evening in the newly established Herald's Rest with his old best friend.

Just as soon as he could find Hawke again.

But Hawke was nowhere to be found, and neither, for the moment, was Adaar. Varric had one of those gut feelings about all this…

When Hawke did finally turn up in the tavern, looking tousled and _much_ more relaxed than he had been, Varric suspicions were confirmed.

Hawke sank—gently—into a chair and waved for a drink. Varric just gave him a Look.

"What?"

Varric added one arched eyebrow to the Look.

"Hey—us important hero-types need to stick together!"

"Pretty sure you don't need to stick that _close_ together, Hawke."

He got a dopey grin for that, and right then all was forgiven. He hadn't seen Hawke grin like that in years. Not since Anders started going downhill. "I beg to differ."

Varric sighed and bought the drinks.

Would it be nice if the Inquisitor was a little more worried about ancient evil trying to destroy the world? Sure. But if he didn't let it bother him much? Well, he closed Fade rifts and put a smile on Hawke's face, and that was good enough for Varric.

**Chapter 8: Skyhold versus the Inquisitor**

Flissa had gone all fluttery and blush-y and wasn't running the tavern anymore. "I'm serving…in a _different_ way." Leliana thought that she was making it a bit obvious, but Sera hadn't caught on. She kept chasing that particular skirt, even when that particular skirt kept vanishing in the direction of the Inquisitor's room—often bringing some other member of the staff with her.

Not that Sera had no luck at all. When the Inquisitor was out of Skyhold and Sera was not, Flissa was much easier to find.

And then Leliana acquired the Arcanist, who set up shop in the Undercroft, and Sera started hanging out there more and more often. Probably just as well. The Inquisitor paid her a few visits in her little alcove, but there were just too many temptations for him there—and when something turned up missing, Sera chased him down with arrows strung.

The Undercroft was different—possibly because Leliana took Dagna aside the day she arrived and explained things. Thereafter, everything that wasn't nailed down was magically warded, and any hand other than Dagna's that tried to touch was sure to get a nasty shock.

Adaar always came out of the Undercroft with a sad puppy face. After a while, he spent less time in there—just sent Dagna messages about what he needed. Sera volunteered to carry them.

-o-

"Varric is a _liar_, Inquisitor. A filthy little snake who cares for no one but himself."

Clarence Adaar draped over the wreck of the training dummy. "Aww, Cassandra! Still mad you didn't get Hawke? You're gonna make me think you don't _like_ having me around as Inquisitor."

"That has nothing to do with—"

"Sure it does! I'm here now because this is how it went. And Varric's just trying to protect his friend." In an instant, Adaar swept around the dummy and pulled Cassandra against him with a large hand at the small of her back. He tipped her chin up with the other, and breathed, suddenly soft, "I'd do anything to protect _you_, my stunning Nevarran princess."

Cassandra's glower faltered for one shocked moment; then, as Adaar lingered, her expression darkened again. Turned quite black, really, a moment before she punched under the ribs.

"Oof!" Adaar stumbled back. "Oh shit, my spleen!"

"I would prefer that you take this _seriously_ and focus on your duty, rather than make flowery promises," Cassandra glowered.

"Believe me, Seeker," Adaar panted. "I take you _very_ seriously." The grin began again at the corners of his mouth. "Or I'd certainly _like_ to…"

"_Ugh!_"

**Chapter 9: Dorian versus Qunari Muscles**

"Hey Dorian, there's a letter…"

Not a naughty letter or anything like that. Sad, really.

"Back to Redcliff already?" Adaar grinned. "Oh well. Sure. I've got a list of errands a mile long to take care of in the Hinterlands. Your family retainer doesn't mind if we're not exactly punctual, right?"

_Dorian_ minded—he wanted this very much taken care of. But, upon consideration—"Making the man wait in a drab little town in Ferelden isn't a bad idea, actually."

Thus began a lengthy trek through the Hinterlands, winding in a generally northward direction. The Inquisitor was easily distracted and had a poor sense of direction on top of that, so Dorian resigned himself to a lot of camping. There were plenty of people to fight, which delighted Adaar. The rest of the party soon fell into a routine—as soon as the last enemy fell, they all found a shady spot and sat around in a group, chatting or cleaning blood off weapons and armor while Adaar picked through every pocket of every fallen enemy and then scoured the nearby landscape for anything else interesting.

After a while Cassandra stopped grinding her teeth at every delay. She seemed to give up. It also seemed to calm her down a little to see that Adaar actually was helping people—very slowly. She had already learned to keep a painstakingly close eye on him when he was talking to anyone in need of help, and that cut down on his pickpocketing considerably.

And of course, there was the _other _qunari—the Iron Bull. "Nice going with the magic back there, Dorian. You're pretty good at blowing guys up."

Doran sniffed and backhanded—he was not about to be tricked into trusting with such an obvious tactic as simple compliments. However, he had to admit that it was refreshing—Adaar would have tacked on a lewd pun about _blowing guys_, if he'd heard. Not that the Bull was innocent of puns and lewd jokes by any means, but he knew a little moderation, compared to Adaar. And he could occasionally come up with a compliment that wasn't immediately tied back to sex. A pleasant change.

Not that Dorian was going to trust the Bull simply because he was a little bit more of a gentleman, either. Even so.

The Bull flipped his blade over to clean the other side, and Dorian flinched back, uncomfortable with how close that giant, razor-sharp edge was. "Watch where you're pointing that thing!"

A wicked grin. "Dirty!"

_Ah, I suppose that one was too obvious_. "_Vishante kaffas_, I meant your weapon!"

Bull just laughed, full of every appearance of good nature. "I know, big guy. Sorry, I couldn't resist. Can't let Adaar out-do me too much, can I?"

Dorian arched an elegant eyebrow. "I was not aware you two were competing to see which qunari could be lewder, more lowbrow, or more of an assault upon good taste."

Still chuckling—"That's a lot of fancy words for 'hitting on the good-looking Vint.'"

"Oh, I see." Dorian's posture was perfect, his expression bland. "So it's a competition to see who can get me into bed first."

"Nah," Bull grinned. "I don't stand a chance in that race." Then he eyed Dorian, his grin turning sly. "You _against_ me, going after _him_—those odds are fairer."

Still maintaining his aloof appearance, Dorian hesitated, studying the spy. _What's his game?_ "I rather doubt that," he observed. "Adaar is quite enamored of me. I think you would lose." A snort of disgust—probably over the whole conversation—drew his attention. Dorian threw a charming smile toward Cassandra. "The Seeker, on the other hand, could have our Inquisitor with a snap of her fingers, if she were so inclined. I'd think carefully about competing against _her_."

"You shall not have to," she snapped, standing up quickly. "I refuse to encourage the Inquisitor in this frivolous behavior." A curt nod. "Excuse me." Cassandra took her leave, with a heavy march that on anyone else would have been described as "storming off," but for her was probably just "walking."

He watched her go, as did the Bull. Then the spy looked back at him, his grin back in force. "So about who would win…"

"Rather crass," Dorian observed, "making bets over who can get into a man's pants first."

"Sure," the Bull was diplomatic. "Normally I wouldn't, but come on. It's _him_." He jerked his head toward the distant figure of Adaar, still frisking a dead bandit. "You think he cares? He'd probably love it if everyone in Skyhold started competing for the chance to have sex with him."

"I should think we're halfway there as it is." Dorian was wry. Then, at the Bull's shrug, he considered again. Studied his would-be opponent. "You _are_ Ben-Hassrath. Adaar has the sense to know what that means." Then again, from what Dorian could see, Adaar was warming up to the Bull already. Ever since he'd laughingly asked how they'd managed to move his unconscious ass and get him all nice and tucked in when they found him after Haven. The Bull had admitted that he'd been the only one who could get Adaar out of the snow, and thus, since arriving at Skyhold, Adaar had been a little friendlier.

"He does," the Bull agreed. "But he also knows that he doesn't need to trust me completely just to have sex with me." A slow grin. "Something certain Vints might have missed."

Dorian gave him a flat look. "Thank you, I'm quite aware. Perhaps it never occurred to you that I might simply not be interested in having sex with you."

The Bull _laughed_.

In fact, he threw his head back and laughed aloud. Dorian was quite insulted, and did not even momentarily notice the line of his throat, his sturdy neck…

_Vishante kaffas._

In truth, Dorian had a few private fantasies—some that had been with him for many years. A qunari was one such fantasy. Not someone to have feelings for or spend his life with—just an experience. Dorian had always been curious. They were just so…_large._

This, then, was frequently on his mind of late. All of a sudden, he had not only met a qunari, he was traveling and fighting alongside _two_ of them. Each with his own…merits.

Of course, as soon as Dorian heard that the Iron Bull was a spy for the Ben-Hassrath, that was a significant mark against him. Probably best to just enjoy the view and not let on that he was looking, if possible. A Ben-Hassrath would take advantage of any weakness or opportunity. Still—one could look. The Iron Bull's arms, chest, and back in particular were _well _worth looking at. Even the extra padding around his middle was no flaw—nor were the crisscrossing scars all over him. They added to the fantasy, in fact. One did not daydream about a qunari warrior being _gentle_.

Adaar, on the other hand, was a nice, safe, handsome Vashoth. He had no interest in the Qun and nothing against Tevinter. He was also younger, with abs that made Dorian's mouth water—and which he delighted in showing off in that odd getup that didn't deserve to be called "armor" when it left his stomach so entirely bare. But then again, the Iron Bull went into battle bare-chested, so perhaps qunari bodies were tough in places that human bodies were vulnerable.

Or perhaps the Maker just wanted to watch Dorian sweat.

Still laughing through his words, the Bull answered, "I may only have one eye, but it works, big guy. And even if it didn't, qunari can pick up scents like you humans wouldn't believe. Nice try, though."

_Ugh. Brute._ Dorian felt that a polite response from the Bull would have been a simple statement that he had seen Dorian looking. This mockery was entirely uncalled for.

In truth, whatever his private curiosity, Adaar was clearly the preferable choice for a one-night experiment. So Dorian _wasn't_ exactly lying, and he said so, over the last of the Bull's offensive laughter.

"Very well, you're attractive. In a brutish sort of way. That doesn't mean I actually wish to sleep with you. Sometimes, one simply prefers to look." _There_. That was a fine, polite rebuttal to the lout.

The lout had calmed down, and he smiled at that. "All right, that's fair. Good to know where you stand." Then, putting his clean axe away, "That all you want with him, too?" A nod toward Adaar, who had found an abandoned chest to root through. "Just something to look at?"

"Well." Dorian blinked. "I don't see how that's your business, actually."

Nonchalantly, Bull answered, "Just manners. I'll probably sleep with him too, eventually. If you want me to back off, though, I'll back off."

Dorian frowned slightly. "If I do sleep with him, I will certainly not be operating under any delusions of exclusivity, so that needn't trouble you." He examined the Bull again. "Are you very attracted to him, then?"

A gentle grin. "I take all comers. No preference one way or the other. But I'm getting signals, and I just figured it would happen, eventually. And obviously he's interested in you. If you don't want to bet on it, that's fine. I was just curious which one of us he'd go for first."

Narrowing eyes. "In short, who would _win_."

"Yup."

Adaar was straightening, and it looked like he was finally done. Dorian stood, regally brushing himself off. "Well, it will be me, I expect, but if you insist, you can buy me a decent bottle of wine when you lose."

Chuckling, Bull pushed himself to his feet. "And what if you lose?"

An elegant shrug. "I won't, but you may have all the vile tavern swill you can drink should things somehow manage to go differently."

"Deal."

-o-

Finally—Redcliff.

And of course it wasn't a retainer. Of _course_ it was Dorian's father.

"Father? This is your father?" Head cocked, horns almost scraping the tavern's low ceiling. "I can see why you're so damn pretty."

And _of course_ Clarence Adaar would flirt.

"Save your smiles, Inquisitor," Dorian snapped bitterly. "This one takes a very dim view of men who enjoy the company of other men."

"Dorian, there's no need to—"

"In _fact_, he so despises those inclinations in his own son that he was preparing to use blood magic to change me. The precious heir of House Pavus _must_ marry, after all."

That, at least, got the grin on Adaar's face to fade. "Wait…what?"

"This display is uncalled for…"

"No, it is very much called for! Going behind my back, setting traps, all for what? To drag me back and finish what you planned? You bought a new slave just for the sacrifice, didn't you? Wouldn't do to waste him by letting him live!"

Dorian was beyond caring what the Inquisitor thought or said; he was livid. He couldn't bear the sight of his own father—the one person who had always mattered most. The one person whose disapproval actually _hurt_.

"Woah, hey. If that's true, Magister Pavus, you just got a whole lot less cute."

Adaar was starting to loom, but Halward Pavus wasn't someone who could be intimidated by physical size. He ignored the horned giant and focused on Dorian. "Please, son! I came to apologize. All I want is to ask your forgiveness for betraying your trust. What can I do to prove my regret to you?"

Eyes narrow, Dorian answered coldly, "Why don't you send me that slave you bought just for me? A little apology gift. Assuming, of course, he's still _alive._" Not waiting to hear more, Dorian spun on his heel, snapping at Adaar, "I think we're through here, yes?"

Cassandra and Iron Bull were waiting outside, and they parted like surprised water before Dorian, who neither hesitated nor looked back.

**Chapter 10: Minaeve versus PDA**

The Vint's mask had slipped, just once, coming out of that tavern, but he had it back in place pretty much flawlessly by the next day. Not quite perfect—Bull could see the cracks around the edges, but just barely. And with how well he could read people, that was saying something.

Everyone else bought the show. Adaar was the only partial exception.

No one knew what had happened, and for once Adaar was not sharing every tiny detail. People asked, and he squirmed and looked guilty, like he was hiding something. Keeping even the smallest secret seemed to be a terrible strain for him.

Thus, they were quickly back in Skyhold—as if fleeing the physical location of the secret would help Adaar get away from the whole thing. Then there was Krem, back with the Chargers from cleaning up in Haven, and Bull had business to attend to, so he left the details for later. Someone would hear and tell him; Skyhold was a small place. News spread.

-o-

Minaeve had hand-selected Helisma to take over her duties, and she spent quite a length of time setting her up to research in Skyhold. In one sense, it was unnecessary—Helisma was Tranquil, and thus very capable. But the knife cut both ways. Helisma was Tranquil, and thus required every instruction to be carefully and methodically detailed. Minaeve didn't mind. She liked the Tranquil. Liked working with Helisma. Liked being alive to do so.

Liked the Herald of Andraste a little too—mostly because he'd saved her life.

It wasn't anything carnal, which seemed to be the increasingly fashionable sort of infatuation with him for many people around Skyhold. Minaeve had no wish to bed the enormous, loud, ebullient qunari. She just…liked him.

She liked him like she liked the outdoors—at a pleasant distance. She didn't mind, even, that she'd no longer have a reason to interact with him. She was happy to watch him, now and again, and perhaps study him a little, in an informal way. He was such an oddity.

So Minaeve noted the Herald's presence in the library—a frequent visitor, lately—and quietly listened as he talked to the mage from Tevinter. Minaeve had _not_ spoken with that one. She liked most people little enough; a magister was no friend of hers.

"He's a good man, my father. Deep down. I think he does care for me. Not that it's any excuse."

"So he could really have changed your desires with some nasty blood magic sacrifice?"

Minaeve froze, ears twitching and focusing on the words. That was…surprising.

"Maybe. Or he could have killed a helpless slave and rendered me a drooling, mindless idiot for the rest of my life."

"Lucky you got away."

A cold smile. "Luck…yes. And one very valuable ally." Then the Tevinter turned from the window. "Thank you for bringing me out there anyway. Even if it was an unpleasant trip."

"I'll say!"

"Maker knows what you must think of me now." There was a wish in his voice, then. A subdued sort of hope…

But the Herald was not one to be unkind. He snorted, grinning. "Oh, I think you're fantastic, in addition to being gorgeous."

"The things you say. I won't make any claims on 'fantastic,' just because I'm willing to fight for what's in my heart."

"Does that include me?" The Inquisitor's voice had gotten softer. _Purring_. Minaeve was…a little breathless. Listening.

A long pause. Then, a slow smile. "It could. If you like."

"Oh…I'd definitely _like._" Out of the corner of her eye, Minaeve saw the huge qunari moving in close. _Maker._ He made a tall human man look small. She couldn't even imagine being the one standing that close to—

"Oh my."

That, from Grand Enchanter Fiona, who had just turned around. Minaeve snuck a direct glance—and then just stared.

She wasn't alone, either. Everyone in the library was watching as the Herald kissed the Tevinter magister. Most of them probably hadn't heard the conversation with their poor human ears, but everyone could _see_.

The Inquisitor certainly knew how to kiss.

…_Scratch that_, Minaeve thought. _They both do._

They hit a table, and sent books tumbling to the floor. They were getting a little tangled around each other.

The softest gasp—but Minaeve could hear so very well: "I see you enjoy playing with fire, Inquisitor."

A deep, rough purr. "That's why I carry fire grenades…and dream about you in my bed."

Breathless laughter. "If you'd like—" But he was cut off with another deep kiss. When he was finally given room to breathe again, his voice was soft. "People are staring, Inquisitor."

"_Mmmm_." He moved in again, but the Tevinter leaned back. The Herald blinked, surprised. "Oh. Is that bad?"

A conciliatory murmur. "I've no need for an audience. Let's save the rest for another time, yes?"

"Anytime you want, handsome."

Minaeve glanced over at the Grand Enchanter, who likewise looked at her briefly. Their gazes met in the silent communication of women who _know what's up_. Minaeve, after all, might spend much time in study, but she wasn't _that_ naïve.

And she was going to have a hard time banishing Inquisitor Adaar's seductive, purring voice from her mind.

But more than that, she thought she had a fairly good idea what they'd been talking about. If she was right, she would certainly have to rethink her attitude toward the Tevinter mage. She'd discuss with Fiona later, see what she thought. And if she _was_ right…

Minaeve had some experience with injustice, though she didn't like to think of herself as a victim. If they had that in common, she could be kinder. She could perhaps be kinder anyway; the man had never done anything to earn her distrust, apart from be born in Tevinter.

The Inquisitor departed, the Tevinter smoothed his moustache and pretended to be quite aloof to the stares.

A minute later, she heard him muttering as he shuffled through books on his desk. "Where in the world has my pen go—" An abrupt stop, then a groan. "Adaar!"

**Chapter 11: Iron Bull versus Weird Magic Shit, a.k.a. Dorian Pavus**

All of Skyhold knew before the sun went down that the Inquisitor and the hated magister were involved. Reports varied—everything from "they kissed" to "they have been intimate a number of times and practically had sex in the library, right out in public." Initial disgust and scandal were high.

It took a few days for the blood magic story to get out, but Bull heard that one before long too. As expected.

Reactions were mixed; of course, that story also had many variations. Some people got a version that led them to believe the magister was now an abomination walking among them, but Bull didn't give any credit to that one—no more than the idea of Adaar and Dorian fucking on a table in the library. Not that Adaar wouldn't—he would. But not Dorian.

In the meantime, Adaar skipped off to Crestwood, taking Cassandra, Blackwall, and Sera to go meet the Warden.

And Varric arrived in the tavern with Dorian in tow, saying something about "teach me these Tevinter rules, then" and buying a round of drinks.

Bull let them be for a while, then eased his way closer. He joined them under the pretense of watching the game. When he'd drained his tankard and was ready for another, he gave Dorian a sly look.

"So. While I'm buying, do I owe you a bottle of Skyhold's finest yet?"

Dorian's expression was quite cold. "What? You hadn't heard? The local abomination has long since enslaved the Herald of Andraste. They have orgies with desire demons every night. Aggregio Pavali will do."

Bull laughed, slapping the table. Varric glanced between them, but only commented, "That's a new one."

"Oh? The unwashed masses are severely lacking in creativity then."

"Damn." Bull wiped his eyes. "You're an expensive date, though."

"Obviously."

Bull glanced at Varric. "Don't wager more than you've got in your pocket. Not against this one."

"Never planned to, Tiny." Varric tapped his hand into a stack and set it face down. "Watch my cards, will you? I don't trust this cheater."

Dorian was entirely unruffled. "What a crude insinuation."

"Really. You object to that, when moments ago you were the one bringing up orgies with demons."

Dorian shrugged. "All right, 'orgies' may be a bit much, but having sex with a demon isn't so uncommon. In the Fade, of course."

Bull almost choked on his drink. "Uh. What?"

"Oh." Dorian glanced at him. "I suppose you wouldn't know. It happens, from time to time, as a mage."

There was a pause—as if Bull _needed_ one to let that sink in—as the serving girl brought their drinks. Bull pulled himself together. He could let himself sound disturbed, but it wouldn't do to let on how genuinely terrifying this idea was to him. "So, uh…you've…"

"I'm not an abomination, Iron Bull. You can relax."

_Okay, that's pretty perceptive._ Bull thought he'd been doing well keeping the tension hidden. "But you've really done it? With an actual demon?"

"It's not as if I meant to," he shrugged. "It simply happens, in the Fade. You're having one of those perfectly normal dreams that everyone has, unconsciously going along with it, and then something makes you realize that the other participant is more self-aware than you thought. As long as you don't make any deals, you're quite all right."

Bull was silent for a while. "Okay. I'm going to have trouble sleeping tonight."

Dorian snorted. "Well, it wouldn't happen to _you_. As a non-mage, you're practically invisible to demons."

"And this is normal for you?"

Grey eyes studied him, some of the nonchalance fading. "Now and again. As I said, it happens." He turned a little more fully toward Bull, sighing. "I promise you, it isn't the same as making a deal with a demon. You put a stop to everything once you realize it and shoo the thing away. You feel a little dirty when you wake up. I usually take a long bath afterward. It's sort of like…stepping in shit. No one plans to, but sometimes you do. You aren't happy, but you wash it off and move on."

His skin was crawling. "It's just not…I mean, you didn't _consent_."

"Oh, is that it?" Dorian gentled even further. "It isn't the same, trust me. A demon can't really help acting in accordance with its nature. It's like asking a fish not to swim in water. They aren't making a choice the same way we would. So it just becomes a normal hazard of being in the Fade—desire demons are around, and if you run into one, it will do what it does. If you go for a walk in some horrid forest where there are mosquitoes, you'll eventually find yourself near one and probably get bitten."

"But the demon isn't a fish…or a mosquito, whatever."

"It has a consciousness, true—of a different sort. I did say, if you'll remember, that I don't _like_ it when this happens. It's quite repulsive, in fact. But it doesn't have the same weight as a violation by someone who can make that choice."

Bull blew out a breath. He understood—theoretically. His gut didn't really get it, but without being a mage, maybe he couldn't fully understand. Maybe he was really glad of that.

Dorian studied him another moment, then returned to his drink. The corner of his mouth curled slightly in distaste, even as the corner of his eye crinkled in a mysteriously smile-like way. "I'm glad you're not Adaar," he commented, as though it had just occurred to him.

"Uh…okay?"

A faint smile. "I mean, I'm glad I'm having this conversation with you, not him."

"Why's that?"

Grey eyes glanced at him, slight amusement in their depths. "We're having a serious conversation about sex. He simply couldn't manage it."

Bull nodded. That made sense. Adaar got sidetracked by innuendo when nothing sex-related had even been mentioned. He'd never get past "sex dreams" to "desire demons."

"I wouldn't say that's what we're talking about, really, but I get what you mean."

Dorian smirked slightly and lowered his voice into a positively terrible impression of Adaar. "So…you can tell when it's a demon because it doesn't look like _me_ anymore, yeah?" Dorian couldn't quite pronounce the word "yeah" correctly. It came out too carefully articulated, not slurred enough. Bull still grinned. "And I'm better than any demon, sweetheart…" Dorian cracked with a chuckle, his voice back to normal. "…Followed by something dreadfully explicit, no doubt."

Bull laughed with him. "Sounds about right." Then he leaned in, just a little. "Of course, if you ask nicely, I can be just as bad."

Dorian's gaze dropped—just for a moment. He snapped it back up to Bull's face so fast some might not have noticed. But Bull—he always noticed. "Indeed. Pardon my lack of shock."

_This is better_. Grinning, he leaned back, hands behind his head. Dorian's gaze duly slipped again. "You know," Bull began, "if this actually _were_ a conversation about sex, I bet we'd have a lot to discuss."

"Quite the gambler, aren't you?" Dorian left no time for a reply. "I can't imagine what we'd have to talk about."

_There it is._ That snooty act, all high and mighty. Like even the thought of getting bent over a table could never enter his dignified presence. "Oh, you know…" Bull flexed, just a little bit. "Lots of things. What you like to do. What you like to have done to you. What you don't like. What you've maybe never tried, but sometimes think about." He paused, significantly, watching. "How much you want to lick me right now."

Grey eyes snapped up from his chest and arms. Met his gaze. Didn't flinch away. Dorian just stared at him levelly, calculating for a long moment before he said, very slowly and precisely, "Don't be ridiculous. That thought never entered my mind." There was a smile in his eyes, though. A challenge. Like he was daring Bull to call him out on the lie.

There weren't literal sparks in the air, but it was damn warm in the tavern and there might as well have been.

But Bull only smiled. "No? Must just be me, then."

Was that a flicker of disappointment?

Before he could find out, Varric was back. "Shit, sorry about that. Saw someone I know, and I had to take the very long way back."

**Chapter 12: Cassandra, Blackwall, and Sera versus The Kleptomaniac**

Adaar flirted with Cassandra, blatantly and constantly. That…might not have been unwelcome, but the great oaf absolutely refused to take anything seriously—even a rift in a lake, the poor village besieged by undead, or the Wardens all hearing the Calling. If someone had told Cassandra that, with qunari at least, it was possible to physically beat sense into their heads, she would have gladly clubbed that horned skull until the Inquisition's leader started acting a little responsible.

Cassandra was already seething mad at Adaar before they even started. Then, of course, the incorrigible rogue did the other thing that infuriated her—he stole things.

Not just things from dead people. He stole coin from an offering plate. He stole goods in Crestwood, a poor village where the people were barely getting by. He stole something out of just about every building he saw, abandoned or not. He despoiled the unfortunate remains of Old Crestwood.

Cassandra. Was. Going. To. Murder. Andraste's. Chosen.

But then, in his endless quest for loot, he found out the sad fate of Old Crestwood. And he sealed the rift in the lake and saved the villagers. And he utterly destroyed the bandits in Caer Bronach and set up an Inquisition base. And he did things for people—things they couldn't do for themselves. He brought the sunshine back and sealed rifts and killed demons. He found the dead so a Chantry sister could give them their last rites, and he looked everywhere for a missing agent.

By the time they were done in Crestwood, Cassandra didn't know what to think anymore. He was terrible. She still couldn't stand him. But she admired what he did, and she respected his abilities.

Cassandra was confused.

-o-

Adaar flirted with Blackwall, blatantly and constantly. Every single bloody time, he gave the same answer—no thank you, very flattered, but _women. Just women_.

He didn't really hold it against the Herald for trying, though. It wasn't Blackwall's favorite conversation to have over and over, but he explained it to himself as the Herald's frustration from lack of progress with Seeker Cassandra, and no hope from the start when it came to Sera. And Adaar was young. Youth made a man over-eager. Blackwall could understand and put up with it.

He did _not_ understand nor want to put up with the Inquisitor making jokes about the Wardens and the dangerous situation they faced. Considering that without Grey Wardens, this whole world would have fallen to Blight long ago and no one alive today would ever have been born, Blackwall felt that everyone owed the Wardens everything. Mockery was unwelcome.

He was a fine fighter, though. Kept his head in battle, even with demons. Demons tended to pop out of the ground and do other things that unnerved most trained soldiers, but Adaar just adjusted, quick on his feet and quicker with his blades. He had good instincts.

He also had no instincts at all.

They found a dragon, and Adaar nearly fell to his death drooling over the sleeping thing. Lucky they didn't meet it awake. Blackwall could tell their team wasn't ready for that kind of a fight—not quite. But Adaar seemed to have a terrible blind spot when it came to dragons, and he'd probably get them all killed by one, given the opportunity.

So he was an ass—but sometimes he was fun. And he was a good fighter, worthy of respect—and he wasn't. By the time they left Crestwood, Blackwall didn't know _what_ to think. All he knew was he wanted some peace from the bad flirting. Maybe a bit of wood to carve, to clear his head.

Blackwall was confused.

-o-

Adaar flirted with Sera, blatantly and constantly.

Sera shot him with an arrow.

It was just a graze across the bicep, though.

Then Sera got to loot a few corners Adaar missed because his arm was in a sling, making him slower at picking through debris.

"It's all good, innit?"

**Chapter 13: Dorian versus The Cock**

When Clarence Adaar got back from Crestwood, the advisors grabbed him and wouldn't let him go. Dorian saw him, and Adaar winked and blew him a kiss, but apart from that, there was no chance to talk.

That much, however, was all the encouragement Dorian really needed. One little sign that nothing had changed.

It was time to make his move.

Adaar, to his complete lack of surprise, had no objections at all when Dorian caught him alone and propositioned him. The Inquisitor just growled and kissed him, already heading for the bed. Dorian let himself be manhandled, tossed onto his back, pinned under a muscled giant, and kissed until he was breathless.

In record time, Dorian was naked. _Fast fingers, _he thought. _Not simply for petty theft._

Then he was skin to skin with a naked qunari, and the shaft sliding against his cock and lower abdomen…

_So the stories were true._

Hiding his surprise behind a smile, Dorian purred, "Allow me." At his touch, Adaar rolled to the side—watched, intently, as Dorian licked down his stomach, as he'd long wanted to, and then brushed his lips along the enormous shaft, hot breath teasing.

"Mmmh," Adaar purred, "yeah. Show me what you can do, sweetheart. That fucking beautiful mouth…"

Thus, Dorian ended up splayed over Adaar's larger body, exploring his cock with mouth and hands, while Adaar slipped oiled fingers inside him. They were certainly unusually thick fingers, but Adaar was careful. He fingered Dorian for an endlessly long time, murmuring his appreciation of the view.

In time, Adaar suggested "something bigger" than his fingers, and even though Dorian had known it was coming and had been stretched almost to excess, he still wasn't sure it was possible.

"Come on, sweetheart, I've done human men before. Trust me, you can take it." He licked his way into Dorian's mouth, tasting himself. Purring, "As good as you are with your mouth, I know you can take my cock. You're just the best at everything, aren't you?"

And Dorian had no good reason to deny him. Really, he didn't want to either. He doubted this would happen again, and it wouldn't feel quite complete if he didn't at least try.

So Adaar settled him on his chest and knees and oiled him until it made a mess, and then he started to push inside.

Dorian bit back a cry, shaking with the effort of controlling his limbs and not thrashing. It _hurt_. Even with all that preparation, and _Oh, Maker, was that just the tip?_ He felt the crown breach him, and Adaar kept _pushing_, and Dorian couldn't wait to get through the painful part, because this was going to be quite intense, but in the meantime he had to gasp a request that Adaar wait a moment.

"Just…give me a little time, _kaffas_."

"Sure, precious." A smile clear in his voice. "You breathe through it, yeah? I'll just _look_ at you."

So he did—apparently. Dorian felt a feather-light touch caressing his rim, taut where it stretched around Adaar's girth. Sometimes he'd squeeze a handful of Dorian's ass.

_Just breathe._

When he felt a little less like he was breaking, Dorian nodded to Adaar to continue.

What followed was as intense as Dorian had expected. With a man of such size, it was bound to be, after all. Adaar had skill, as well—he was practiced in the use of such a large cock. When the pain had finally faded enough to ignore, Dorian shivered through waves of pleasure with every thrust. It was very, very good.

It ended in a messy, noisy set of climaxes. Adaar barely touched him and Dorian spilled; Adaar, without asking, came inside him—but Dorian was much too wrung-out to be cross.

Then it was slow kissing and lots of petting as they came down from it.

It was all very good—yet more familiar than Dorian had expected. He'd thought his first qunari would be different from others, somehow, yet beyond the size of his cock, Adaar was much like any other man. He was firmly in the "good" category, and certainly the largest man Dorian had ever taken, but there was nothing else remarkable about it. He was considerate enough to help Dorian dress, and there were some lewd jokes—Dorian would have been shocked if there had not been, really. But then it was over—a good time, quite pleasant and fun, but that was that.

He could congratulate himself on having beaten the Bull, Dorian realized—that was something. In fact, once he'd thought of it, he found himself wondering what sort of wine the Bull would be able to procure to settle the bet. He was Ben-Hassrath, after all. Surely he had evil qunari ways of procuring things.

Smug in his victory and anticipating wine, Dorian turned his steps toward the Herald's Rest.

**Chapter 14: Iron Bull versus Delicious Dorian**

Bull noticed as soon as Dorian entered the tavern. He noticed when anyone entered, of course, but Dorian was hard to miss, all sparkling like that. Their eyes met, and Bull waved him over, though it seemed he didn't need an invitation, already crossing the room with his regal stride.

"Is this seat available?" All poise and manners.

Bull nodded, and was about to say something friendly, but as Dorian seated himself next to Bull…

_Sex._

The overwhelming scent of sex hit him.

He grinned, already suspecting the answer as he breathed deep, testing the scent. _Oh yeah_. That was Clarence Adaar all over him. Even if Bull hadn't been traveling with the guy enough to know his scent, it was distinctly qunari, and he was the only other one around.

Dorian smelled so heavily of sex and Adaar, in fact, that he must have come straight here from Adaar's bed—or wherever they'd done it—without even bathing. He'd fixed his hair, Bull could see that, but other than that…

With a slow grin, Bull met Dorian's eyes. Daring grey looked back at him—smiling, challenging, _knowing_. He'd done this on purpose.

Bull laughed, and without a word between them stood up to go fetch something from Cabot. He'd asked the bartender to hold it for him a while ago.

Returning, he placed the bottle on the table in front of Dorian. "Rowan's Rose?" A flicker of delight, quickly masked. "Well, it isn't Aggregio, but I suppose it will do." He accepted a glass, and noticed that Bull had only brought one. "Have you no taste for fine wine?"

Bull let himself show a little surprise at that. "Didn't think you'd want to share your winnings. The bottle's yours."

A _tsk_ as Dorian swirled his wine. "Well. I'm feeling exceptionally generous, at the moment." And he extended his glass toward Bull.

Surprised again, but this time not showing it, Bull gamely took the glass and sipped. Hummed appreciation and handed it back. Dorian took it, met his eye, and sipped from the same spot. His expression smoothed into perfect satisfaction. "Ah, yes. Delightful."

"I can see why you like it."

"Mm?"

"It's a little bit sweet, very strong, but it treats you nice."

Sharp grey eyes studied him, amusement in their depths. "Quite. But there are many drinks that treat you roughly, and I like those just as much."

"I bet you do," Bull purred.

Dorian just smirked at that and continued to enjoy his wine. Sitting there, smelling so fucking delicious…Bull had to stop himself from leaning in. The thought was there, though—give that strong, thick neck a good long lick, breathe in the scent of Dorian, freshly fucked…

_Shit, I want him_.

Then: _…Oh._

They'd been flirting, of course, but until this moment Bull hadn't actually _wanted_ to have sex with Dorian. He was up for it, sure, and it might prove a useful thing to do at some point, but he wasn't hoping for it. Sex wasn't something to hope for, really. It just happened. People had needs. Sometimes, meeting those needs was useful. Sometimes it was just fun. Bull had planned for sex with specific people before—he was still currently expecting Adaar to come calling at some point, and he knew of three of Adaar's previous partners who would eventually pay him a visit, for comparison's sake. But none of that came from Bull. None of that was his own desire.

The feeling itself was odd—almost new. He didn't often want things for himself. Didn't often feel like this about anything. Dorian, though…right now, the way he smelled, the tease and the challenge in his eyes—something inside Bull lit up and started _pulling_.

Dorian offered the glass again, and Bull took it. Took a slow sip. Handed it back. "So…you going to tell me about it?"

A delicate snort. "I suppose a brute like you _would_ want all the filthy details. No well-bred man would gossip so about a bed partner." That was funny, Bull thought. That scent he was soaked with was more gossip than a verbal play-by-play of the whole thing. "If you are so curious, you can bed him yourself. Though, having lost the bet, you can buy your own drinks after."

Bull chuckled. "Yeah, I probably will, if he wants it." He studied Dorian. "I'm guessing you and him aren't going to be a thing, then?"

"There was no discussion of any ongoing sort of arrangement," Dorian dismissed. "I imagine we are both satisfied with what we got."

"Did he say that, or are you just assuming?"

Dorian made a face. "Please. I think some assumptions are safe, with _him_." Then, finishing his glass, he corked the rest of the bottle. "Still, if you wish to be certain, you may confirm it for yourself before _you_ bed him." He stood, then smirked and leaned down—close. The scent wafted over Bull, strong—enough to make his dick stir in his pants. Dorian's voice was low. "When you do, and once you've confirmed for yourself the rumors about his size," he locked eyes with Bull, "do bear in mind that I _took it._ Every inch of it."

A deep rumble vibrated somewhere in Bull's chest. Dorian straightened, clearly pleased with himself, and strolled away with his wine.

**Chapter 15: Solas versus Exploits of Sex and Theft**

All the way back from Caer Oswin, it was, "Man, that Lucius guy was a shit."

"What an arse."

And then before too long, like clockwork, "Ugh, what an asshole."

"He was shite."

Adaar and Sera carried on agreeing like that for hours.

"Maybe we should have killed him some more."

"I shot his dick off."

A pause, thoughtful. "Okay. That's good. And I stole everything he had. Well, re-appropriated. When they're dead it's not stealing."

Solas watched, silent. Cassandra huffed with impatience over the repetition at first, but by the time they reached Skyhold, Solas noticed her turning her head away every time the old chorus was repeated.

"Man, I hate that guy."

"He's a pisser."

She turned too slow, a few times, and Solas caught the beginnings of a smile on her strong face. A welcome sight—the Seekers' fate weighed heavily on her, a strain on her considerable faith. But every time she began to sink into thoughts that brought that sorrow into her eyes again…

"Traitorous prig."

"Shit-tits."

Another flash of a smile.

-o-

"I'm just going to…stretch my legs a bit before bed."

Varric looked up from the campfire, watched Adaar stroll away nonchalantly, then looked back over at Solas. "I say…two hours before he's back."

"You clearly suspect him of some duplicity."

Varric laughed in his quiet, rasping way. "Did you ever wonder why he set up camp here?"

"Nazaire's Pass offered a convenient, and strategic, location," Solas answered neutrally.

"It's also within spitting distance of Professor Frederic of Serault, esteemed draconologist."

Solas glanced in that direction. Frederic had his own fire going; the light was easy to see from here. "If the Inquisitor wishes to spend even more time talking about dragons, at least we do not have to stand in blazing sun and listen, this way."

"I tend to agree, Chuckles. But I think he'll be doing a bit more than talking about dragons."

Solas glanced back at him. "Oh?"

Varric grinned. "Two men alone in the desert, under the stars, sharing their greatest passion—the mighty dragon, a passion few others understand. They lock eyes, and in a moment the depth of their bond demands something more—an expression of the passion they share."

"Ah." Solas didn't smile, not precisely, but his subtle amusement was there. Hence the nickname. "I see your point." A moment of thought later: "Two hours, you think?"

"Easily. This is Inquisitor Adaar we're talking about."

"I should have said he'll remain in Frederic's camp all night."

Varric laughed again. "Care to put coin on that?"

"Oh no. I've little interest in winning coin. But if you'd place the story of your crossbow's name in the wager…"

Hands waving, Varric sat back. "Nope. I fold. This wager's too risky for me."

"As you wish."

Adaar came back at dawn.

-o-

"This fucking lock will _not_ beat me!"

"Inquisitor, our soldiers…!"

"Just a _minute_, Cassandra!"

Solas moved closer and offered quietly, "We at least know they are alive. The Avvar will probably not kill them if they wish to use them to lure the Inquisitor."

"Ugh." It did not, however, have the usual power of Cassandra's disgust behind it. It was nearly a sigh.

"Ha!" Adaar jumped up, kicking the door open. "I got it! No soppy wet door can stand up to—_holy shit_ look at all this loot!"

The rest of the party shared a glance, moved into the room and out of the rain, and sat down to wait.

"Ooh, looky!" Adaar tossed an old book at Blackwall. It looked to be a Warden tome of some kind.

"The history of the Wardens is fascinating," Blackwall remarked, rough hands gently brushing the cover.

Adaar, however, answered with a long groan. "Uuuugh! Maker's nutsack, why are you so _boring?_"

"I beg your pardon?"

Adaar was rooting through chests even as he declared, "All you talk about is duty and sacred trust and blah blah _blah_. Yay, Wardens save us from Blights, that's great and all, but there are other things in life worth talking about and doing. _And…_" He held up a shoddy dagger he'd just found to emphasize his final point, "you won't fuck me!"

Blackwall gave him a shuttered look. "Neither does Solas. And all he talks about is the Fade. But I don't see you complaining."

"A bit of an exaggeration."

"Yeah, well I don't _want_ to fuck Solas, so it doesn't matter."

"I'm flattered, Inquisitor."

Cassandra snorted. Blackwall seemed to share the sentiment. "I thought you wanted everyone."

"Look, the _point_ is, you don't have to fuck me, but if you're so set on women, fuck Cassandra! She doesn't like me either!" Cassandra's horror was inarticulate. "Or not Cassandra, whatever, just somebody! Get your head out of your Blighted arse and have some _fun_. Play pranks with Sera, ride Josephine sideways, anything!"

Blackwall's teeth were locked together. "Again, Inquisitor, I fail to see why I alone am the target of this advice."

"Solas _has_ fun." A glance at the elf. "In the Fade. I think."

"Indeed I do."

"See? Weird fun, but whatever. He fucking loves it. _You_ don't fucking love _anything_."

"That's…not true."

"Oh yeah? So what do you fucking love?"

"…Jousting."

Unblinking eyes stared at Blackwall for a full count to twenty, and then some. Finally, Adaar pointed into the chest. "I'm just going to take this," he grabbed something and glanced at it, "…blue-ish fabric, and this," another grab, "…um, schematic." He yanked the lid off another chest. "Oh look, gear! All this is mine…" A mosaic tile sitting on the floor vanished into his pack, "…and that, and we're done here. Let's go save our people." At the door, he paused. Pointed at Blackwall. "And you—get a hobby or get your dick wet."

"I just said—"

"Jousting doesn't _fucking count!_"

-o-

Blackwall took up woodcarving.

**Chapter 16: Iron Bull versus The Biggest Ass In Skyhold**

Adaar was loudly complaining of all the tiring missions he'd been on lately, so Bull took the opportunity to invite him to join the Chargers for drinks. It was mostly uncalculated—just looking to help the guy unwind—but he was aware that Adaar was less wary of him when he was around the Chargers. It made him look more like a mercenary captain—familiar. Less like a spy from Par Vollen.

And if Adaar chatted up every member of his company? Well, they were big boys. They could handle it.

There was singing, storytelling, dirty jokes, more singing, and so much ale that Cabot started to look a little nervous. Bull's guess—he was on his last cask, or close to it. Adaar weathered the drinks as only a qunari could—it took a _lot_ of human alcohol to affect someone so much bigger. Eventually, Bull shared a little _maraas-lok_. Adaar was suspicious at first, but quickly changed his mind.

"Shit! Shit yeah!" He coughed. "Well, I guess the Qunari had to come up with at least _one_ good thing, right?"

"That all?" Bull shrugged. "I guess I'll take it."

"All right, two things," Adaar amended, eyes warm and sliding down Bull's chest. "But that's it!" He grinned. "And really, I've only had a taste of the _maraas-lok_. So I'm going on guesswork for the other one."

Bull grinned in return. Leaned in close. Murmured, "You saying you'd like to ride the Bull?"

"Yeah." Adaar pushed further into his space. Breathed, "Give me a taste."

The stairs groaned under two big qunari, the Chargers hooted, and Adaar laughed and grabbed himself through his pants for all to see—not a subtle one, the Inquisitor.

With the bolt sliding shut behind them and Adaar already stripping, Bull began, "I'm not sure you know what you're getting into here, boss."

"Uhh, fucking?" Adaar grinned. "At least one orgasm, right?"

Bull hummed, then grabbed his wrists and pinned him to the wall. "Yeah…but this might not be the way you're used to getting there."

Grinning, Adaar snapped at him with his teeth. It was sincere enough that Bull yanked his head back, just a bit. "Variety is the spice of life, hot stuff," he growled. "You wanna be the boss? _Make me_ give it up."

The Bull could do that.

He established a watchword, then got out the heavy rope. Adaar didn't have quite the same bulk to his muscles—rogue, not a warrior—but any decently fit qunari could shred most ropes that held humans. Adaar didn't make it easy for him. Bull made the most progress once he'd pinned the guy by his horns.

Adaar fought. Bull chuckled. "You've got a strong neck, but not that strong."

A sharp grin. "You're missing fingers. I'm waiting for your grip to slip."

Bull laughed and pressed down harder. "You'll be waiting a while."

Only when he had Adaar bound and helpless did he get them both naked.

A lot of the fight dissipated when Bull licked Adaar's cock—which, yes, was impressive, even from a qunari vantage point. There was a thought hovering around the back of his mind about that, but he didn't let it surface. While Adaar was in his power, Adaar was all he would think about.

Bull brought Adaar to the brink with his mouth, stroking his sweet spot with a single, teasing finger, but he didn't let him come. He removed all touch at the last moment, leaving the young qunari trembling, hips jerking, cock shuddering, seeking release. It was a very nice body, very pretty covered in sweat, with that monster leaking all over his frankly delicious-looking abs. When the edge had passed, Bull gave him a break, doing nothing more than lapping up his precome from the valleys between each muscle.

Then, with a little fingering and not another touch to his cock, Bull took him to the edge again. Again, pulled him back. Adaar's fight for dominance had become a shivery plea for orgasm. Bull licked his chest and nipples and thought about biting and twisting them, leading into a little spanking, but—maybe not. Adaar was unfamiliar with submission, he could tell, and yet he was sinking into it pretty fast. Best not to add pain, this first time. He needed to get a feel for his limits.

Adaar was glassy-eyed, legs eagerly spread, when Bull finally took him. He made inarticulate, desperate sounds and hitched closer, trying to take Bull deeper with every thrust. Begging, pleading, just about screaming… When Bull took his cock in hand and rubbed a thumb under the ridge of the head, Adaar came _hard_. Several shots covered his own face, then his body—a damn pretty sight. Bull pulled out and stroked himself fast, and when he came, he added to the mess all over the Inquisitor.

As he did with everyone, Bull took care of Adaar after. He untied him, rubbed his limbs, wiped him clean, helped him drink, and checked for injuries. Adaar was fine, if a little blissed out. Bull tucked him in. No harm letting him spend the night.

"That…was kind of incredible." A sigh, to the ceiling.

"Glad you enjoyed it," Bull smiled. Then they lay side by side, and a long while after Adaar's breathing dropped into the smooth rhythm of sleep, Bull let himself think that thought.

"_I took it. Every inch of it."_

That was a damn pretty picture—not to mention impressive. Dorian had a right to be smug. And, since he'd basically told Bull to think about it, Bull let himself contemplate that picture as he drifted off to sleep.

**Chapter 17: Iron Bull and Dorian versus Orgies**

Every time Cassandra thought the Inquisitor was improving, learning to behave like an adult and take serious matters seriously…

"The Dalish talk about me? Really? What do they say?"

Loranil craned his head back to look up at the grinning giant. "They mostly say you're very…big."

_Ugh_.

"Oh, I _am_." Leaning in, _touching_. "I'd be happy to show you, pretty boy."

The elf went suddenly red. "Ah…oh. Well, if the Keeper would only let me join the Inquisition…"

Thus, they ended up simply giving away a pile of supplies to the Dalish, just so that the Keeper would grudgingly allow Loranil to join the Inquisition—just so Adaar could take someone new to his bed.

Cassandra was torn between breaking his nose and throwing up her hands in despair. But then again—it gained them a new agent.

All this, while their party was short one member. Solas needed some time to himself after the loss of his…demon friend. And Adaar had been almost caring. Still a little sarcastic, but much improved, compared to the way he'd treated the explosion of the Conclave and many of the other catastrophes early on. Perhaps, after all, he cared more about matters that hit closer to home, that impacted the people nearest to him. The fate of the world was a little lost on him, but personal tragedy… Perhaps he _could_ make a worthwhile friend and comrade…

"Does that rock look like a dick to you?"

_Ugh._

"I feel like it looks like a giant erection. Blackwall? Cassandra? …Oh wait. Do either of you know what an erection looks like?"

_Surely, even if I kill him, we can still use his hand to seal Rifts…_

-o-

"What's going on, boss?"

Adaar plunked down next to Bull and grinned. "Can you fuck me again?"

It wasn't really any surprise. Bull smiled a little. "Sure. Right now?" It was early in the evening—too early for most people to have packed into the tavern. Bull had a guess that Dorian would be by later for a drink, but they hadn't talked. He just knew the pattern.

"Yeah, now, and I was wondering if you mind another participant?" A hopeful smile that was…well, it was _cute_. "Cute" would probably look incongruous on Adaar to anybody much smaller than him, but to Bull it just made him look a little like the _imekari_ he had been, not all that many years ago.

Bull chuckled. "I don't mind if they don't. Is it Flissa?"

Adaar's smile got a little thin. "Uh, yeah. And less creepy spy knowledge is fine with me, just so you know."

"Got it." Bull pushed himself to his feet. "My place or yours?"

"Mine!"

Flissa joined them right outside the tavern with a little giggle. Then, on the way, they passed Adan. A surprisingly sharp fellow, that one—with one look, his eyes said he knew what was going on. Adaar winked at him. "Room for one more, handsome!"

Adan's gaze flicked to Bull, who just shrugged…then to Flissa. She blushed and giggled and nodded at him, and that was when Adan's expression changed. Not that most people would notice. Most people bought his grumpy, "don't-like-any-of-you-assholes" act. Bull knew from the start that he was a big softie, especially when he liked someone.

And apparently, he liked Flissa.

"All right," he huffed, making himself look as put-upon as he could. To Bull, he just looked hopeful, and he glanced often at Flissa as they went upstairs.

Adaar's room was huge and fancy, with a fortunately massive bed. Bull hadn't actually been in here before, but it was clear that the stuff cluttering up the upper walk had been put there recently. The closet door didn't quite shut. The wardrobe too. There was stuff all over and around the desk. They really hadn't been in Skyhold _that _long.

Making no comments on it, Bull got the group together and went over the ground rules. Got everyone clear on their watchwords. Went over what they all wanted to do. Adan asked if he could just watch, and that delighted Flissa. Adaar was a little disappointed, but agreeable. He mostly wanted Bull to take charge, maybe teach them some of his tricks.

Flissa, it turned out, was a natural tamassran. She didn't just serve; she _enjoyed_ serving—Bull could see that. Probably why she slept with Adaar so much—he liked being served. And dominated, a bit, but he was still getting used to that. Probably because he was a big, loudmouthed male—the people around him would have expected dominance from him. Nobody would have thought to tie him up and make him beg. If he'd been born under the Qun, the tamassrans would have known what he needed as soon as he came of age.

But Bull didn't mention that.

They had a pretty good evening together. Bull hardly took his pants off, except to fuck Adaar's face toward the end. Mostly he gave orders.

Before he left, he noticed a couple quill pens on the desk that looked awfully fancy—in a Tevinter kind of way. While Adaar dozed with Flissa, he picked them up and pocketed them. Then he and Adan took their leave.

"Maker," the fellow mumbled on the way back down. "You do this often?"

"Nah," Bull smiled, then patted the guy on the back—a little gently. Adan was still getting himself together. "Hey." Adan looked up at him. "They aren't serious, you know." Adaar and Flissa were a good fit, in terms of chemistry, but that was all. And if Adaar kept exploring his submissive side, the chemistry was going to change. Flissa liked to take care of people, but she wasn't inherently dominant.

Blinking. A flicker in Adan's eyes, before he looked ahead again, putting the "gruff" back into his voice. "I didn't know that, actually."

"Hmm. Well, now you do."

They left it at that.

-o-

Upon entering the tavern, it was with some surprise that Dorian noticed the Iron Bull's usual spot was vacant. A quick scan around confirmed his absence.

…_Oh._

Quickly, Dorian recovered. After all, he'd come in here for a drink. That was all one went into a tavern for—alcohol.

Rather than taking a seat, Dorian headed to the bar and Cabot. The Chargers were out of Skyhold, and Sera, he remembered, was probably not in her alcove. She was too frequently in the Undercroft. Dorian supposed he'd buy a bottle of wine—if anything Cabot sold could be _called_ that—and head back to the library, or perhaps his room.

Varric popped up out of nowhere before he could leave, however, asking if he wanted to play cards. Sadly, he insisted on Southern rules, which Dorian thought made the game too dull to bother with—usually. Tonight, with nothing better to do, he obliged.

It wasn't as if he was disappointed. He certainly hadn't made any plans to be otherwise occupied. He'd only wanted a drink; now he had it.

It grew late, but not _very_ late. Dorian tired of the card game, and Varric seemed to want to do some writing. The only other person in the tavern Dorian knew was Blackwall, sitting talking to some recruits, and that was hardly a conversation worth joining—not that he'd be welcome. Or, indeed, interested.

With a vague feeling of displeasure, Dorian decided against lingering to unreasonably late hours. He bid Varric goodnight and departed, heading toward the main hall. He'd just drop by the library and grab a book before returning to his room…

In the entryway of the main hall, he met the Bull. "Oh." Dorian's steps slowed. "Good evening."

The Bull turned to him—he'd been waving a farewell to the alchemist, who was going out to the garden—and likewise stopped. "Dorian, hey." Then he straightened and fished a hand into his trouser pocket. "Good I ran into you. I thought these might be yours."

The sight of his favorite and second-favorite pens in Bull's large hand made Dorian blink. Then, it all came together. With a sigh, he took his pens back. "I'm grateful to you for rescuing them." He smirked, just a little, eying Bull. There were no telltale signs, but… "I suppose I needn't ask where you've spent your evening, then?"

A shrug, and a grin. "Probably not."

"Well, lucky you." He stood at ease. Poise came naturally after years of having one's nannies drilling it in. "I admit, I probably would not have guessed—without the benefit of your frankly unfair sense of smell, I suppose."

The Bull just chuckled. "That wouldn't have been much help. I was mostly just there to give orders, this time."

He arched one eyebrow delicately. "Oh? This time?"

A wink. "Yeah."

Dorian did not smile, nor feel charmed. "And to whom were you giving orders, besides Adaar?"

"Flissa," the Bull jerked a thumb over his shoulder, "and Adan."

_Curiosity._ Dorian kicked the feeling sharply away. "That's quite the party. How nice of you to share."

Bull's expression became more studying. "He's not mine, Dorian. There's nothing to share or not share."

"Truly?" Dorian asked simply to make conversation. Simply to be polite. "Are you also finished with him, then?"

"Eh…" Bull scratched at the base of a horn. "Don't know. If he wants it…"

"You'll oblige, of course." Dorian kept his face perfectly smooth, his voice light and even. "Really, are all qunari as easy as the two of you?"

"Well, _he's_ not Qunari," Bull shrugged. "But yeah, under the Qun sex just isn't a big deal. Don't know about other Tal-Vashoth, though. I get the feeling there aren't many people like _him_."

"In more ways than one," Dorian murmured. Bull's stubborn refusal to be offended left him a little derailed—off-rhythm, and wondering why he was trying to offend the man in the first place. "Well, you'll be pleased to hear that the tavern has not fallen down during the brief time it did not have you propping up the wall, so you may return to your customary place without having been missed at all."

Without missing a beat, Bull answered, "Not at all, huh?" His quick eye took in the bottle Dorian still carried, purchased from Cabot's rather shabby shores, and with a glance he retraced Dorian's path from the tavern. He grinned. "That's cold, big guy."

Dorian snorted. "What? Am I to sit in the tavern alone and pine for your odiferous company? I was playing cards with Varric, as a matter of fact. I had very little thought to spare for your absence, and I assume you had other people on your mind as well."

"True," Bull answered neutrally. "I usually focus on the other person—or people—during sex. Manners." Then the grin was back, Bull leaning in and lowering his voice. "Doesn't mean I've never imagined you naked, though."

Heat on the back of his neck, pulse skipping a little faster, Dorian arched a cool eyebrow. "Poor man—I very much doubt your imagination even approaches the reality." Then he stepped around Bull and continued on his way, bidding a "Good night" over his shoulder.

Dorian did not _check_, but if the Iron Bull did _not_ watch his arse as he walked away, Corypheus was just an unusually large nug.

**Chapter 18: Harding versus A Giant (Arse)**

Scout Harding had just about finished getting the camp set up at the edge of the desert when the Inquisitor and his party arrived in the Forbidden Oasis. She gamely weathered his usual flirtations—as if a _dwarf_ wanted any part of _that_, Maker no, she'd heard the song—and gave him the run-down of the temple and the Venatori presence. Finally: "Some of the scouts saw a giant. Keep your eyes open. Don't want you to get stepped on, Your Worship."

Adaar grinned like he was about to say something typical of him, then froze and blinked. His gaze went distant. The elven mage watched him with a polite, listening expression, laughter in his eyes. The other one, the Tevinter, glanced at his face and then over at the Iron Bull. They both grinned.

"Uhhh…okay. See you later…"

The Inquisitor wandered off, his companions all concealing laughter with various degrees of success.

-o-

The missive came back later that day, and Harding and a few scouts and the requisitions officer picked up the extra tents and moved into the Oasis. They arrived as Adaar finished picking through the last of his fallen enemies, and on his direction they began to set up a second camp on a rise of dry land, near the water. The Inquisitor's party went through the usual routine of restocking their potions and cleaning their weapons.

As soon as the scouts had the first tent up, Adaar threw his pack into it…followed swiftly by his pants. He stripped down without the slightest hesitation and, with a _whoop_ of glee, leapt off the bank into the water.

_Oh, yes. No way a dwarf wants any part of that._

The Inquisitor started chasing a tusket and attempting to ride it. The scouts and the requisitions officer tried not to look like they were watching, but they were _watching_.

"How about it, big guy? You're always yapping about bathing…"

A _tsk_. "That is not_ bathing_, that is _swimming_. I suppose I should have expected the difference to be lost upon a—"

Everyone suddenly cringed as the air was pierced with a shriek.

"_Giant!_"

The next moment, its huge shape stomped around the rock face into view. The group sprang for their weapons. The Inquisitor was attempting to run through water toward the camp, causing a huge amount of splashing and just drawing the thing's attention even more. Unfortunately, it was between him and them.

Iron Bull bellowed a challenge as the Inquisitor tried to get back to his clothes and weapons, but it didn't work. In an instant, the naked man had to turn on his heel to avoid the fists. A scout tried to throw him his daggers, but they fell far too short. The mages threw fire. The giant, however, didn't see any source for the sudden pain but the one already in front of it.

The Inquisitor kept trying to scurry around rocks, grab stones to throw, anything to get away—all while shouting and yelping in a way that would have been hysterical if it weren't for the immediate danger to the life of the one person who could save Thedas.

Finally, Inquisitor Adaar scrambled into a cave where the giant could not follow. Having lost its target, it turned on the others, who set to work trying to fell it.

"_Ahhhhhhhh spiderrrrrrrrssssss!_"

Adaar came running back out, a venomous stinger in his arse.

This time, at least, he could reach his daggers—though he avoided getting into the thick of things, naked as he was. When the party finally brought the giant down and killed the spider, everyone collapsed into the water, panting.

Except Adaar.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!"

Every step had a slight hop to it. The Tevinter buried his head in his hands, blowing out a breath and beginning to laugh hollowly.

Scout Harding, carrying His Reverence's pants, came up to the group. Stopped—_what an eyeful_—and grabbed hold of the stinger and pulled it out.

The Inquisitor squealed like a little girl.

The Iron Bull snorted and began to laugh. Soon, he was throwing his head back with it. The Tevinter likewise was helpless with laughter, barely upright in the water. Solas had a hand over his mouth, but he was shaking and the crown of his head had gone a bright rosy color.

"I _did_ try to warn you," Harding offered, along with the pants.

**Chapter 19: Iron Bull versus the Storm Coast**

Adaar was getting over his paranoia about the Ben-Hassrath—gradually—so Bull _really_ hated to deliver this particular message.

"The Ben-Hassrath want a meeting."

All smiles dropped from the Inquisitor's face like a brick off the battlements. "What."

_Yeah. Figured it would go like this_.

So. First, Bull had to make Adaar understand that they weren't after _him_, planning to capture him and drag him back to Par Vollen and brainwash him. Then he had to spend longer than he should have explaining why Vints and red lyrium were a legitimate threat, and no, Adaar probably couldn't handle it without the Qun's help. The Inquisition was a pretty landlocked operation so far. They didn't have a vessel that could deal with the smugglers' ship.

Then, of course, Adaar was dead set on bringing his whole army, claiming it was for the mission, but the nervous tension around his eyes said it was probably more for self-protection. Bull had to appeal to his merc experiences to remind him of the value of a small, mobile strike force—and how damn hard it was to hide a marching army.

It was a long talk.

Finally, with a stiff, toothy grin, Adaar proclaimed, "All right, alliance with the Qun, then! Sure, sounds great! You'll be there, of course, and I'll go tell Dorian to get packed, we wouldn't want to leave our favorite magister, and…where's that creepy spirit thing with the bug eyes and the hat? Gotta bring him!"

"Uh, boss? You both fight with daggers. Might be better tactics to have someone who can—"

"I'll give him a bow."

Thus, without even considering that Cole might not know how to _shoot_ a bow, it was settled.

It would be an early night and an early start in the morning, so Bull was surprised when Dorian showed up in the tavern just after the dinner hour. Usually he made a point of waiting until later. Probably still trying to convince people he had other places to be and things he'd rather be doing, and coming here was an afterthought—not what he looked forward to all day when he was scouring those ancient tomes of his.

Dorian got himself a tankard—with his usual _what have I come to_ routine—and joined Bull without further pretense. "Our last night in relative comfort, and this is the best we have. Ah well." He drank. His throat, when he swallowed, looked…good. But Dorian hadn't turned to place himself at the best angle for viewing. He wasn't showing off. _Strange._ Still…he looked good.

"Adaar's really bringing you with us to the Storm Coast, huh?"

"Shocking, isn't it?" Dorian met his eyes, briefly. "But I suppose that's his intention. He even bothered to go looking for Cole, and I don't know if they've ever spoken. The idea seems to be 'what have I got around here that I can bring to scare the Qun with?' Rather juvenile, really."

"…Yeah."

"That's all?" Dorian's voice was still light, but his eyes were studying Bull. "Just 'yeah'?" He still couldn't say _yeah_ and sound natural. "I'm accustomed to more commentary from you."

He hesitated. "That what you came in here for? My comments?"

Dorian made a dismissive little shrug. "Your thoughts…if you have any. I might find myself a little curious what you make of this mission. Although I suppose if the Qunari are secretly up to something dreadful, you would hardly tell us."

"I told Adaar what I know."

Another glance. Then Dorian set his tankard down firmly and turned toward him, determined. "All right, I'll go along with that. But you're worried. I can hardly force you to tell me why, but I'd…" His eyes broke away, but came back to Bull's face at once. "I'm asking."

That was the least typical thing Dorian had done yet in an already-atypical evening. When was Dorian ever direct?

Well…now, apparently.

That left Bull very few options. Lie outright, or be equally direct.

"Anything goes wrong out there—even a little thing—he's not going to hesitate. He'll take the help if it's free, but he won't lose anything for an alliance with the Qun. He doesn't really want them around anyway."

For several moments, Dorian was silent. "I suppose that would put _you_ in an awkward position. Divided loyalties, as it were?"

_No._

But Dorian didn't ask because he thought the answer was _yes_. He knew the answer; he was asking to see if Bull would say it.

Between the Qun and the Inquisition, there was no contest. The Qun won. End of story.

And Bull didn't really want to say that out loud, but Dorian already knew. Anything short of the truth—he'd know. He'd withdraw—maybe not visibly. Probably not. Dorian was good at concealing his true feelings. But Bull would lose whatever small chance he might have had to win his trust. And _losing_ trust wasn't his job.

So.

"Not really. I'm loyal to the Inquisition. But _I am_ Qunari. Not really a question of loyalty there. You just are what you are."

"Hmm." Dorian gave nothing away, but Bull had a feeling that, as uncomfortable as the topic was, that had been a decent answer. "Well. We shall soon have the opportunity to combine forces, and perhaps loyalties—or identities, whatever you wish to call it."

-o-

As it turned out, there _was_ some divided loyalty after all. Not between the Qun and the Inquisition. But when it was the Qun or the Chargers on the line…

Adaar's response was completely predictable, and somehow, Bull didn't even mind. He raised the horn to his lips and blew, with a calm detachment like suicide, and he was glad to do it, glad Adaar was who he was, and glad to lose everything for that crazy bunch of assholes. Glad to see them _live._

**Chapter 20: Solas versus Mere Mortals in The Fade**

Through an accident—for wasn't that the way of things, now? wasn't all of this an accident?—they stood physically in the Fade. And it felt…

It _felt_.

To _breathe_ magic again, to feel it all around, it was so painfully beautiful. It was a memory a simple country elf had no claim to, so Solas did not speak of the sweet nostalgia he felt. To the others, they were lost in a nightmare. To him, he was finally awake and _out_ of the nightmare—the cold, silent world, where magic was always distant, fleeing his touch. What mattered the shapes the Fade took? What mattered apparitions and grotesqueries? It was the _Fade_. It was _home_.

He was as silent as he could stand to be, and he watched the others. How would these poor creatures handle an experience so far beyond their grasp?

"What the fuck am I _stabbing!?_"

…_Characteristically. Of course._

Adaar flicked his daggers before sheathing them. "All I'm saying is, it's pretty fucking hard to know where to stab it if you don't know what it _is_. Like just now—why did that thing even die? How was it _alive?_ What the fuck did I _hit_ that finally killed it?"

Solas suspected that _your understanding that you had caused it lethal amounts of damage reshaped the world and affected the fearling so that it ceased to be, because you ceased to believe that it was_ would probably not go over well as an explanation. So he just shrugged.

Iron Bull growled. "All I know is, I've got a big-ass hammer, and if I keep swinging down, eventually everything that's _not_ flat will be _flat_, and then it'll probably stop moving."

"That is accurate." _In ways you know nothing of._

Dorian edged closer to him and spoke lowly. "Do you feel that too? I'd rather know it's not just me."

Considering how _much_ Solas felt, he hesitated. "Can you be more specific?"

"_Casting_," Dorian clarified, shaking his hands out one at a time. "It's like…driving a carriage that suddenly comes unhitched, and the reins just fly out of your hands."

_Ah._ "The magic is no longer restrained by the Veil. It would naturally respond more readily. I suggest you diminish the strength of your spells for a while, and build back up to the usual level of force as you grow accustomed to keeping tighter control."

"Yes, thank you, I think I shall."

"What the _fuck_ is _that!?_"

"_That_," it turned out, was a spirit.

"So…you're the Divine? Maker's nutsa—aaaaaahhh-I mean, uh. Sorry, Your Divine…ness."

"_These are your memories,"_ she said, and on they fought.

Adaar treated each new revelation like someone had told him, "Did you know they have pink snails in Rivain?" In essence, a blink and a "Huh!"—the details of the Conclave much like odd little tidbits of information he had no real use for. It seemed the Inquisitor was far more interested in the problem of intangibility.

"Aw, _man!_ Shit!"

He'd tried to pick something up again, and it had disappeared. So, as it happened, Adaar _was_ stuck in a nightmare after all—not one of crafted horrors or ominous threats, but the nightmare of a kleptomaniac surrounded by things he couldn't take.

The only things that didn't vanish right away were the items to answer the fears of the dreamers—because they existed based upon someone else's consciousness, of course. Not that Adaar knew that. All he knew was that the candle didn't disappear when he picked it up, and for a while he clung to it like a child with their favorite toy. Then he found the table, and read the note.

"Well. That's fucking depressing."

Adaar set the candle down, but his little noise of dismay when it disappeared suggested he'd planned to pick it right back up again. Instead, a burst of magic hit him.

"Oh!" Adaar straightened, blinking.

"What the shit was that?"

"Don't look at _me…_"

A faint smile lit the Inquisitor's face. "Dunno, but it made my dick tingle."

And so, they went about touching mirrors and easing the fears of lost dreamers—and each time, Adaar read their notes, made a face, announced, "_That's_ fucking depressing," and then giggled and wiggled a little at every touch of magic.

"_Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din."_

"Banal nadas." Privately, Solas appreciated that the Nightmare chose to speak in Elven. But then, some things could not really be communicated in the Common tongue.

The Nightmare had more luck with the others, though Dorian, true to character, showed not even a flicker of dismay. He seemed more perturbed when the Nightmare spoke to Iron Bull; and without a clear shot at the Nightmare itself, Dorian tore through fearlings and demons with a bit more venom after that.

And of course:

_Dying alone._

It was strange to read the other stones and see how many of them feared the thing they had the least reason to fear. In their own minds, they did not see how empty their fears were. How could Varric ever become his parents, he who walked a path so carefully opposite? When would Cassandra ever be helpless? She had built herself into the most capable fighter imaginable, arm and soul—perhaps _because_ of her fear. But she could not see that she had already beaten it.

Likewise the Iron Bull, recently cast out, thrust into a world without orders—one he had always believed he could not survive. Yet here he was, alive and well and not mad yet.

Likewise Dorian, tempted constantly, and as a result, perhaps better than anyone else at identifying temptation when it came. And he had already resolved not to give in. The only victory temptation could hope for was within a soul who did not realize they were being tempted.

Solas' fear was the only one that was real, for he knew it would come. He had known for so long that it would, _must_, come to that.

Interesting, in a way, that of all of them Sera's fear was most akin to his own—though expressed with her customary lack of understanding. Even _despair_ was not like _the nothing_; _despair_ was only the opposite of _compassion_, and both were very real.

Alone with the nothing, in the end—Sera sensed what Solas knew. They were more alike than either of them cared to believe.

A spider was actually rather welcome, after that. Regardless of the size.

Adaar stared at the thing for a silent moment, jaw hanging open. Then: "Okay…I've got two daggers here. _How the fuck_."

The spirit bought them some breathing room, though the Aspect tried to take it right back again. It flitted about, vanishing and reappearing, and Adaar let out a blistering stream of filth every time he went to stab it again and hit empty air. "Get _back_ here you ugly cunt-faced tentacle-dickheaded spider-assed shit-squeezing child-fucking son of a dead nug!"

He finally just threw a dagger straight at it. The blade hit, embedded in the thing's "face"—remarkably, just as it was dying. It made for a spectacular finish, even if the Inquisitor barely managed to retrieve his weapon before the Nightmare was threatening again.

Hawke and the Warden both claimed the right to stay, but Adaar immediately turned to Hawke. "Uh-uh. Varric will _castrate_ me if you don't come back." He looked at the Warden. "Sorry, buddy."

"Inquisitor, it has been an honor."

Already running, he called back, "I'll carve your name on the dagger I use to slit up that darkspawn magister! It's a promise!"

Back through the Rift—the warmth and energy of magic suddenly gone again, oh, how cold the world felt—and Adaar immediately punched Erimond in the face and started shouting.

"_Fuck_ all of you! You are all nasty and evil with your nasty evil blood magic and demons and disappearing stuff! Everybody, I want every Warden lined up right here so I can punch them all in the face!"

Within five minutes, however, the remaining Wardens, cowering and whimpering, had explained to the Inquisitor that none of their leaders were left alive, and all those present had been following orders—many of them unwillingly. While he was in the Fade, they'd changed sides and fought as allies. The Inquisitor's wrath fizzled instantly.

"Oh. Well, then…join the Inquisition, I guess." He shrugged. Solas sighed. "Oh, not Erimond, though. Chain that bastard up, I have _very bad things_ in mind for him." He flicked a dagger out, bending over the half-conscious man, grinning sharply. "I hope you like the taste of your own entrails, you shithead." Then he reached down, ripped a shiny buckle off the man's armor, and pocketed it triumphantly.

**Chapter 21: Dorian versus Polyamory**

Dorian glanced out the library window and did a double take at the sight of Clarence Adaar, giant stick in hand, whacking the Iron Bull repeatedly in the chest and stomach.

He blinked.

It clearly wasn't a fight. The Bull was simply standing there, taking every hit, unarmed and making no move to hit back. Dorian _had_ to know.

Eavesdropping via magic was a tool of limited usefulness. In Tevinter, one could not use it against one's enemies, as they were always mages themselves and would notice the spell. Hence the importance of informants. But one learned the spell just the same, more as a means of keeping an eye on one's own people, who were _not_ mages.

Neither Adaar nor the Bull were mages, so Dorian put his spell to use with impunity.

"Piece of Fade, piece of crap! That's right! And who killed you? Iron Fucking Bull!"

Gradually, it became…well, not _clear_ what was happening, but by the time Bull sighed, "Thanks, boss, I needed that," Dorian had got the gist of it. He was preparing to release the spell when Adaar leaned on the stick and grinned.

"I could probably use a little beating myself, if you're feeling better. Not with this, though." He dropped the stick and took his hand and smacked his own arse, as if his point had not been clear.

_Ah. _Dorian straightened, eyes flicking around the library. No one was looking his way. _This…_Dorian hadn't meant to eavesdrop on _this_, but…

"Sure, boss. Just us this time?"

"_Actually…_" The grin was clearly audible, even through the spell-echo. "There's someone I was thinking of inviting. Flissa's busy, and I know he wouldn't want to do it if there was a woman there…"

_No._ Dorian was not hearing this…surely.

"And it's been a while since I fucked Dorian, but he was great. Think he'd want to have a go with _two_ qunari?"

And the Bull was going to say they should ask him. Of course he was. And then they _would_ come ask him. And then Dorian would have to say something, and how could he answer that? Because in truth—yes, there were some lurid fantasies involving more than one faceless man, but they were the sort of thing one indulged in when one was alone. If he were ever going to actually _do_ that, it would only be with two complete strangers, preferably with no names, and absolutely never to be seen again. That type of fantasy was not one Dorian wanted to mix with people he saw every day, fought beside, and called…well, _friends_, perhaps.

And really, it was simply that. Dorian had slept with Adaar, but once had satisfied his curiosity, and he really hadn't looked at Adaar sexually since then. Only, sometimes, those abs—in a purely objective spirit of appreciation. Even that _cock_ didn't linger much in his dreams—it was just too large to be practically useful for certain things that Dorian liked very much. And the Bull? Well…why should he bother? He was no kind of man for Dorian to contemplate a romantic future with, and Adaar had already served as his "qunari experiment."

Of course, _some_ around Skyhold slept with both of them. For comparison's sake. And perhaps that was a decent reason to _consider_ sleeping with Iron Bull. At some point. When Dorian wasn't busy. And if he was very much in the mood for sex, and hadn't any better offers…

In the meantime, Adaar was a friend—as far as one could go in befriending a brainless thief. And Dorian thought that, perhaps, he might also consider Bull something of a friend—as far as one could go in befriending someone from such an entirely opposite background, whose presence in his life was destined to be temporary at best. Still. Comrades in arms, and all that.

Dorian had never imagined or wished for the sort of encounter they were discussing. Friendship was so much harder to come by.

But neither Adaar nor Bull would let one little threesome affect their friendship thereafter, and it _would_ be quite pleasurable…it would _have_ to be. Both men had quite the reputation around Skyhold, and Dorian did _so_ enjoy such entertainments… So if they offered, what could he say? He had no good reason to refuse.

Then, the Bull's voice: "Actually, you know who we should ask? Tanner."

_What?_

"Who?"

"Tanner. You met Tanner, boss. The recruit? Sweet farmer boy, blue eyes, cute freckles?"

"Oh! Oh Freckles, yeah, I remember him!"

"He doesn't go in for women much either, but you'd like him. And I know he likes _you_."

"He does?"

"Yeah, he's just shy. Want me to ask him?"

And Adaar eagerly agreed, and they parted ways—Adaar to drop something off with Cullen first, and Bull to go talk to Tanner and then bring him over to Adaar's room if he was agreeable.

Dorian felt…relieved. And…not disappointed, no, but…curious.

_Why did he do that?_

-o-

Helisma paused before shelving a book. The Tevinter, Dorian Pavus, had spoken.

"What is he playing at?"

The query may or may not have been directed at her, but she was nearest.

"Please specify. Whom do you mean?"

The Tevinter, Dorian Pavus, looked up quickly. "Hmm? Oh, no one. Pay me no mind."

"Understood." Helisma shelved the book.

"A clear deflection, surely, but he hardly knows what my answer would have been…so it must be for his own reasons…but _why?_"

This was spoken much more quietly, and Helisma had been directed to ignore the Tevinter, Dorian Pavus. So she did.

-o-

Tanner had no idea what he'd done to deserve this. Probably he hadn't done a thing, which could only mean he was soon to die for the holy cause, and Andraste was giving him her blessing and reward _before_ his noble sacrifice. Tanner hadn't ever heard the Chant mention that Andraste's favor could take _this_ form, but he didn't know the _whole_ Chant of Light, so maybe he just missed that part.

The reward of being fucked by two massive, gloriously muscled qunari men would probably have stood out in the Chant, though, so maybe Andraste was just improvising.

One of them was so terribly selfish—and Tanner _loved_ that.

The other was so terribly attentive—and Tanner _loved_ that.

Both of them were huge, and hung, and seemed to be competing over who could make Tanner come the most. Tanner lost count, and then he lost his _mind_.

He couldn't exactly _walk_ away from that experience, but he came away from it feeling like an old man who had seen all the happiness life had to offer and was ready for his time to come.

Thereafter, most people who met Tanner would, at some point, get to hear him ask, "Have you ever bedded a qunari?" as a glassy, far-off look entered his eyes. Then he would dreamily say something vague about it, and wander off into his own thoughts.

Those who knew him would leave him alone when that happened. Ten to fifteen minutes later, he'd return to the present.

**Chapter 22: Cassandra versus The Slut**

Cassandra accepted the mission to Val Royeaux, promising Leliana that she would keep an eye on the Inquisitor and not allow him to ruin anything for poor Josephine. They stopped first to deliver Ellerly's letter to Countess Dionne. It was truly touching to see her tearful relief at hearing he was well. Surely, they must be a tragic pair of lovers in difficult circumstances. No countess could openly love a mage, war or no war. Cassandra was deeply moved, and glad that their efforts to help Josephine could also bring happiness to this poor couple.

Shockingly, Inquisitor Adaar did not make any inappropriate advances. He was a little warm in his reassurances, perhaps, and Cassandra caught him winking at the lady, but that was perhaps just his natural, irrepressible charm. He made no invitations, at least, and Cassandra was forced to count that as a noteworthy victory.

_Perhaps he understands and respects the bonds of love and does not desire to force himself between those whose love is singular…_

It was a sweet thought, and Cassandra felt warmth in her heart for this…perhaps-not-so-hopeless man.

Then he waved the rest of them to wait outside the gate as he went to speak privately with Minister Bellise. She emerged from the estate, her step regal, and Cassandra respectfully kept back.

"I'll put a sovereign on him propositioning her."

"Yeah, not a chance, big guy. The real bet is—will she take him up on it?"

"Ugh!"

Dorian ignored Cassandra's disgust, stroking his moustache thoughtfully. "There are very few reasons why she wouldn't…"

"The Countess Bellise is a grandmother!" Cassandra huffed. "Her daughter recently delivered her second child. Not to mention, she is a council minister! Is there to be no respect for such a noble woman?"

The Iron Bull chuckled. Dorian smiled. "Age and standing, my dear Cassandra, have very little to do with desire." He nodded toward the pair—toward where the Inquisitor was standing in his qunari "armor" that left much of his upper body bare. And as they watched, he stretched his arms and flexed his muscles, posing in a ridiculous fashion, and obviously saying something equally terrible. The Countess' gloved hand flew to the mouth of her mask.

"I say she goes for it," Bull commented.

"As I wish to keep my sovereign, I'll not take that bet."

"Surely…"

They departed together, the Countess leading the way, gait still perfectly regal.

"Perhaps they are going to discuss the Du Paraquettes further…" Cassandra weakly tried.

"I say, he's going to go make it worth her while." Iron Bull settled himself in a nearby chair, obviously preparing to wait a while.

"I do not believe this."

"It's a good move," he added, as Dorian joined him. "She probably wanted something in exchange for her help…"

"She'd be a fool to simply give a free favor to an organization like the Inquisition," Dorian interjected.

"Yeah. And he'd have to promise some pretty significant resources to someone in her position."

"Not to mention the social ramifications. It could be beneficial to have her known to be our ally, but then again, without knowing her agenda, it could be risky."

"This way," Iron Bull finished, "he doesn't have to tie us down with any deals we might regret later, and we can use our resources for something else." He grinned. "Besides, he enjoys it. This is a bargain for him."

"For all of us."

"Yup."

Cassandra deflated. Dropping into a seat of her own, she announced, "I want to leave this city and go kill some enemies of the Inquisition."

**Chapter 23: Dorian versus Three Times**

Adaar took Solas, Blackwall, and Cassandra to the Hinterlands to investigate the Fade rift Solas' studies had revealed.

The Iron Bull remained in Skyhold. As did Dorian.

He had a pile of new research into Corypheus' true name, but he left it in the library just after the dinner hour and adjourned to the tavern for a well-earned drink. The Bull greeted him, and Dorian joined the Chargers, though somewhat on the fringes of the group. Bull, as always, was at the center, but in the shuffle of people coming and going and getting drinks and food and splitting off, Dorian soon found himself close enough to actually begin a conversation.

And he _had_ been wondering.

"I heard a little rumor, you know."

"Yeah?"

He stifled his smile. "Recruit Tanner apparently had an unforgettable night, one he's calling a religious epiphany. As I can say from experience that the Herald of Andraste is not quite as incredible as all that, I thought you might have been involved as well."

Bull's grin was wide. "That's giving me a lot of credit, big guy."

Dorian shrugged. "It's no more than what half of Skyhold says about you. I'm simply putting together the pieces, you see."

Bull laughed at that. "_Half of Skyhold_, huh? Don't think I'm quite there yet."

"Indeed? I'm scandalized. You really must work on those numbers."

"You going to help me with that?"

Well…was he? Or was he still just teasing? _You might have thought a little more carefully about this, Dorian Pavus._

"Don't be ridiculous." He smirked. "You'd never again be able to summon the desire for others if I let you have me. I'm simply beyond compare."

Bull's laugh was even heartier this time. "Nice! Big claims, Vint. I like it."

_All right_, Dorian thought, _I'm certainly flirting like I intend to take this upstairs._ Though he hardly knew why. He'd had his experiment with a qunari and was no longer curious. So what was he doing?

"I beg your pardon, '_claims_'? One does not _claim_ that the sky is blue, Iron Bull, it is a stated fact."

"Sure, but the dwarves in Orzammar don't know that. They have to take your word for it until they see for themselves."

Dorian lowered his voice and leaned closer. "Are you asking for proof?"

Bull matched his gesture. "Are you offering it?"

_Apparently, yes._

He arched an eyebrow. "I'm defending my honor. I won't be called a liar."

"I didn't exactly call you a liar."

"You at least implied it. I won't take such allegations."

"Yeah? What _will_ you take?"

Horribly, Dorian found himself perfectly on the same page with a lowbrow qunari mercenary—a page made of dirty puns that were wretched excuses for flirting. Even more horribly, he couldn't resist.

"_Every. Inch._"

-o-

With Adaar, it had been surprising how ordinary it all was. With Bull, Dorian thought he knew what he was getting into now. _Oh, how foolish. _And the most shocking thing of all was the very first thing, the thing that set a rather unexpected tone for the rest of the evening.

It was a kiss.

Bull was bolting the door, and Dorian was flicking open a buckle and shooting a critical glance at the hole in the roof and preparing to say something disparaging about the evening's prospects in light of the accommodations…

And then just as he was opening his mouth, frankly enormous hands around his ribs lifted him clear off his feet and against the wall, and then—that kiss.

Stunned, Dorian blinked. He managed to keep up, but it was…not the kind of kiss he'd expected. It was _hungry_. It was raw—one might almost say _desperate_, but surely that was just Dorian thinking something silly and dramatic. He gathered himself and closed his eyes and met the kiss—still rather taken aback that they were starting like this. This wasn't quite what he'd expected to be doing with his mouth first.

One huge hand moved up, buried itself in his hair, blunt claws scratching his scalp, and the kiss _stayed passionate_. Dorian was getting breathless. And—now what? Now there was no room for sarcasm and playful banter, or posturing, or pretend. Now there was nothing but a stark realization—_Oh my, he really wants me._ And that led to—_Oh my…I really want him._

Maker only knew _why_, but there it was—a burning desire, not just to be fucked, but to have the Iron Bull. Not because he was qunari, not because he was nice to look at, but because _he was_.

There was some mumbled insistence on a watchword as Bull carried him—_carried him_, of course he was big, but honestly…!—to bed. There were fumbling hands at Dorian's buckles, and "Yes, yes, all right, I understand, I'll say _katoh_…or I'll light your scruffy face on fire if I forget. Or if you don't _get on with it._"

He was still mostly dressed when Bull freed his cock from his trousers and swallowed him down without prelude.

"Fuck!"

Fingers shaking, Dorian tried to stay calm and keep undressing—he'd managed it while being sucked off more times than he could count, but for some reason, it didn't go well this time. Each buckle took far longer than it should have, and he eventually had to settle for wiggling out of the rest in an awkward mess. He pushed himself up on his elbow to do so…

And his clothing hit the floor, but Dorian was rather entranced by the sight of massive shoulders and back, deep valleys between muscles—bent over his lap as Bull sucked his cock. It felt…exquisite. He reached out, touched a horn…and Bull looked up at him, pulling slowly off, and Maker, what a sight.

"You good?"

Dorian swallowed. "I was until you _stopped_," he tried to snap, but it came out a little too breathy.

Bull smiled—another surprise, a warm, fond _smile_, not a lascivious grin at all—and went back to it.

He peeled Dorian's trousers down his legs and sucked and sucked and in short order Dorian was lost, coming hard in Bull's mouth. A remarkable thing. "You'll let me return the favor, of course?" he asked, taking him in hand. And Bull was massive, yes, but thankfully not as ludicrously oversized as Adaar. Dorian had planned to use his mouth, and half expected to be led in that direction. Instead, arms around him and for a moment, almost another kiss before Bull redirected himself to Dorian's jawline, his throat. Hands on his chest, his shoulders, his back, kissing and sucking his skin.

In this position, all he could do for Bull was jerk him off, really. He made it good, expecting to be given room to start moving downward soon—but not so. Bull seemed content with his hand. Very content, in fact. He came in the circle of Dorian's fist, pale semen on tan skin.

That was when Dorian realized, _He's not like Adaar at all._

Then—_Well, of course not._

Even so, he had apparently assumed…perhaps subconsciously…

Hot tongue cleaning him, making no delicacy about it, nor doing it for a show. It was with _relish_.

Dorian felt dizzy.

"Maker, I want you to fuck me."

Bull's growl was deep, but his eye was smiling. He pressed their foreheads together and fumbled with a bottle of oil. Both of them breathing hard.

He put Dorian in his lap and eased the first finger inside, and Dorian arched and bore down, clinging to sweaty grey skin, and Bull kissed his shoulder, his bicep, the join inside his elbow, and back up again. Dorian rolled his hips—"Give me another."

"You sure?"

"Another!"

He cried out when the Bull obeyed, delight shivering through him. He felt the heat of Bull's gaze, watching; felt his hand pulled close to Bull's lips and more kisses, on his palm, on his fingers. Back to his throat. Then he noticed.

_Not on my mouth since…oh. _Of course.

Dorian didn't bother talking about it. He pulled Bull's face toward his and made his wishes clear with his tongue between Bull's lips.

Bull groaned and let him have it.

Dorian whimpered and chased the taste of their spend. Now _he_ was the one who kissed hungrily.

He was riding thick fingers and it wasn't enough. Moaned, throatily, "I want your cock."

"Just a little—"

"_Now!_"

Bull moaned and put himself in position, held himself there, but he let Dorian control it. And Dorian didn't hesitate. He slid down Bull's cock, loving the burn as it filled him. Oh, there was pain—Bull was still larger than any ordinary human—but he was not Adaar. It was bearable. It _ached_, but it did not overpower him. The last inch or two were the slowest, but Dorian never _stopped_.

Bull kissed him again, as shocking as the first time.

"Can't believe you just did that, Vint," he panted.

"Clearly…you forgot…my utter…magnificence." Bull was, after all, _huge_. _Breathe_, he told his body, and _Relax_, and it did.

And then—they fucked.

It was a hard ride, and not a quick one, but Dorian, blissed beyond all reckoning of time, never dreamed of asking to slow down. When his legs gave out, Bull laid him down and kept on fucking him, massive body above him, massive muscles flexing, covered in sweat. It was hot, it was _hot_, it was… His body was burning, it was on _fire_, it was…

There was smoke.

_You cannot be serious._

Bull made a surprised noise and moved as though he would pull out, but Dorian caught him. "No wait…just give me a moment." And he gathered ice, the chill and the damp, and soon the fire was out. When the ice melted, it was going to be quite a mess.

"You set my curtains on fire." No complaint. A grin—with something like awe in the tone, in the eye that watched him.

"Technically…that is…a valence." He blinked. He breathed. He was back inside himself again. "_Fuck me_."

"Yeah…"

Not long after, still getting pounded, Dorian pressed his lips right onto Bull's ear. Breathed out on a groan, "Stay inside. Come. Don't pull out."

Then he _bit_.

With a growl-turning-yell, Bull did. Dorian _felt it_. Felt the bruising grip on his hips. Felt the hot breath at his hairline. Felt every pulse, every spurt—felt himself let go.

When it faded, he was shaking.

Bull got a cloth, but he seemed a little unsteady himself. He lay down beside, around, behind Dorian, pulling him close and wiping him absently. Dorian, voice dazed, announced, "By the Maker." Then, the light scratch of stubble on the back of his shoulder and another warm kiss. Dorian swallowed. "I do not wish…to exacerbate…your already-inflated ego…but." He took a deeper breath. "I'm afraid that may have been…perfection itself." Or, _the best sex I've ever had._ Maybe.

The rumble Bull answered with was deeply pleased, in an inarticulate way. Then he shifted, and Dorian felt something. Eyes wide, he stated, perfectly calm, "You've not gone soft."

"_Mmmmh._ Sometimes…" Then, instead of an explanation—"Sorry."

"_Sorry_." Dorian contemplated that word. "It's as if you expect me to be offended."

"Not too hard to do, most of the time."

A slow nod. "All right. Well. I'm not offended."

"That's good."

He shifted. Rubbed. "I want it back inside me."

"Uh…"

"That was in present tense. Meaning _now_."

With a deep groan, Bull rolled on top of him. Hands parted him. Cock pressed in deep. Dorian lay on his stomach and felt jolts of pleasure shake him from head to toe. "N-Now…are you—are you going to go soft, and it simply takes a while, or…?"

"I can come again, big guy."

"…Excellent."

The third time was slow. _Slow_. Inexorable. Smooth. Deeper than before. Heavy, close, hot, sticking. Stirring Dorian up. Seed leaking out—such an utter mess. So…so…

With a shudder and a whimper, Dorian came again—almost dry, barely anything left to smear the sheets.

Not so, the Bull.

_Maker, how…?_

No answer but the reality of it—Dorian was utterly flooded with seed. He would have been terribly annoyed with anyone else. With the Bull, he feared he might be addicted.

It was quite a while before either of them attempted much movement. Dorian drifted, possibly dozing, Bull's hands stroking him slowly. When he got back to his room, there was no question of it—he'd need a bath.

At length—_considerable_ length—he gathered the strength to rise. Slowly—and very gingerly—collect his clothes and dress. Bull remained nude and in full view. It was _not_ tempting.

A grin. "You set my curtains on fire."

_Vishante kaffas._ "It's a _valence_. Hang it back up properly and you'll see." He snapped because he couldn't believe it. He'd lost control of his magic once—young and just learning to touch himself, new to the experiences his growing body was capable of and not aware that his magic might respond automatically too. He'd been dangerously close to a repeat maybe twice since then—both times so drunk he barely knew what was happening, and magical control was tenuous, with or without sex. He'd never been _driven_ to something like this by a partner.

He didn't want to admit that. He'd already admitted much more than he meant to.

"Sure, big guy. It's a valence. …A _burnt_ valence."

A severely arched eyebrow. "Well. It was ghastly to begin with."

Bull laughed in a way that made Dorian think the stupidest thought—about jumping back on the bed and wrestling and kissing and falling asleep in warm, huge arms. Like a fool, like a newlywed idiot. He would _not_ do _that_.

He did smile, however. It was difficult not to, when one had just been fucked so thoroughly and wonderfully.

So the night ended in a happy way, with a last kiss—soft and slow, to balance out the first one. And, "Do take a bath, you lummox. You'll cause physical harm to the people of Skyhold tomorrow if you don't."

**Chapter 24: Sutherland versus The Inner Circle**

Sutherland had always thought the Inquisitor was incredible. That someone like _that_ went out of his way to chat, and trusted him with actual missions, and flat-out _gave_ him and his friends all that expensive armor—_only in the Inquisition_, he thought. Anywhere else, you'd have to join whatever existing army there was, and you'd start at the bottom. You'd be _years_ working your way up, earning rank. To be given such an opportunity…

…And then to cock it up by getting in over your head and nearly getting yourself killed! It was embarrassing and frustrating, and Sutherland pretty much expected he'd earned his own stupid death. He felt pretty terrible for the others, though…especially Shayd.

And then the Inquisitor himself swept in out of nowhere like a vengeful dragon! Sutherland couldn't believe it. He figured on some discipline at the very least—maybe a run-down of the whole cock-up and some stern leader-ly advice on not repeating the mistake. But no. As soon as the darkspawn were dead, the Inquisitor rushed him—quite unnerving, with a guy two feet taller and a full foot broader than you—and grabbed him up in a crushing hug.

"Ha-ha, we fucked them up! Great work, little guy! Damn I'm glad you're okay!" He set Sutherland back down. "Voth? Voth? Oh there you are, good." Then it was all big grins and back-slaps. "Shit, you boys had me worried. Let's get the whole story, yeah?"

So, after some extensive looting, they travelled back to Skyhold with the Inquisitor himself and his party. _What a legend_.

-o-

Varric couldn't take notes on the road—he'd tried, but there just wasn't any way to write while riding horseback. So he had to keep the Sutherland lad's tale in his excellent memory for now, and jot it all down when they made camp. He figured—Sutherland pinned down, a darkspawn blade at his throat, when Inquisitor Adaar swung in on a rope, shouting a war cry to terrify man or beast, and kicked the monster aside. Then he'd land in a crouch, draw his blades, slice the monster to ribbons, and give Sutherland a dashing wink before tearing into the next enemy.

So it hadn't gone exactly like that. Close enough. This sounded better.

In all the excitement, Varric had stopped paying attention to the other companions. But when the story was finally told, he got back around to noticing the Iron Bull again. They'd headed out of Skyhold on very short notice for this rescue, and they'd been riding fast to get to the Storm Coast in time, but all of that hadn't kept Varric from noticing the silly grin on the Bull's face. Now that they had some breathing room, it was back, and worse than ever.

_Hmmm…_

He didn't have to wonder for too long.

"So, Dorian. About last night…"

Their favorite Tevinter froze a moment, then sighed, apparently realizing there was already nothing he could do.

"Three times!"

"_Whaaaaaaat!?_"

Inquisitor Adaar spurred his horse and almost ran Dorian's off the road. She shied a bit, but the mage kept her steady. Then Adaar was…sniffing him? Varric watched, fascinated. Adaar just looked confused. Then he turned to the Bull and did the same thing, only this time he seemed to find whatever he was looking for.

"Ah-_ha!_ I thought there was something funny!"

Dorian levelled a dark look at the Bull, who shrugged. "I _did_ bathe."

"Apparently not as well as you might have."

Bull grinned. "Maybe you should show me how _you_ do it. Give me a proper lesson on what to do in a bathtub."

"Hey! Hey!" Adaar looked like a puppy frantically jumping for a treat. "Why are we fucking in bathtubs without _me?_ I want in on this!"

Dorian was looking ahead, and he didn't turn or move, but he seemed to have stiffened. The Bull, on the other hand, almost looked like he relaxed _more_. "Sorry boss. We'd never all fit." He shrugged. "_Ebasit kata_."

The tone sounded like _oh well_, but Varric caught the eye contact—brief, but not an _oh well_ kind of look. Adaar blinked, leaning back a tic. Then he sighed, eyes sliding over to Dorian, who was trying to ignore all of them.

"_Venak hol_," he mumbled, shooting the Bull a disgruntled look.

Considering that Varric had been expecting the Inquisitor to announce he'd get a bigger tub in no time, this was all very interesting.

"What was that?" Shayd whispered.

"I think it was Qunlat. That's what they call their speech, I guess." Sutherland.

"Ohhh…"

"It was!" Adaar, back again, and back to cheerful. "It's a beautiful language, you know. Very poetic. _Very_ erotic." A typical Adaar grin. "Right, Voth?"

For the second time in the space of a few minutes, all heads turned. Voth looked up silently. Just barely nodded.

Shayd's eyes were peeled wide. Sutherland's mouth was agape, but he looked like he was struggling to get a button through a buttonhole that was too small for it.

Dorian and the Bull just laughed.

**Chapter 25: Advisors versus Halamshiral**

When the meeting concluded, Josephine and Leliana left the war room together. They didn't part in Josephine's office, however. With a single, silent glance shared, they both went out to the hall, then the garden, then into the little Chantry. They both knelt down and _prayed_ for the upcoming ball at the Winter Palace. Prayed most of all that Andraste would preserve them from Adaar's usual behavior and somehow direct the ever-changing whims of his nature so that he would take this somewhat more seriously than usual.

What _had_ they been thinking? They should have known the Inquisitor might be called upon for tasks such as this. If only they had been able to find Hawke in time…!

When Josephine tried to impress the severity of The Game upon him before entering the palace, he was charmingly carefree—which could spell disaster, or it could be just the thing to win over the court. Josephine prayed again, and wondered if she shouldn't have found a way to bribe Adaar into taking this seriously.

When Leliana pulled him aside and told him of Morrigan, he seemed more entertained than anything else. "Creepy magic shit, huh? Is she hot?" _Typical_. She was half amazed the Inquisitor hadn't already pulled someone into a closet for a quick tryst. Then again, if Adaar could just pick his moment, a little dash of sex was often the best sort of scandal at court. Leliana prayed again, and wondered if she shouldn't have found a way to blackmail Adaar into taking this seriously.

Cullen had a headache.

-o-

When Adaar danced with Duchess Florianne, the entire court stood in awe. He was graceful and witty and charming, exotic and strangely compelling—so tall and imposing. Josephine had to admit, after the fact, that she might be a little smitten.

When Adaar dumped a pile of secret documents and letters and other blackmail at Leliana's feet—_including_ the truth behind Lady Cambienne's slippers—the former bard had to give him…quite a bit more credit than she'd ever planned to. _Thirty_ people and all of their cohorts, all utterly in her power! She was…actually impressed.

Adaar happened to be passing just as an ostentatious fellow who kept talking to him suddenly went to grope Cullen's bottom. With a lightning-quick grab, Adaar had the offender's arm twisted in a dangerous-looking position. Then he got in the fellow's face—or mask. He had to lean down to do it. Teeth bared in a frightening rictus—and some of them were _sharp—_"Oh, I'm sorry! Is that uncomfortable for you?" A breezy laugh. The arm still twisted. "How silly of me! I thought perhaps you were going to put your hands somewhere quite dangerous…too close to something that doesn't belong to you. But I must be mistaken. You would never try to steal anything of _mine_, right?"

Cullen was _not _Inquisitor Adaar's in any way, but at the moment it seemed like a good idea to let these noble popinjays think as much. The evening became much less onerous afterward, and Cullen was greatly in Adaar's debt.

-o-

Morrigan had neutered men for the sorts of looks the fabled Herald of Andraste was giving her. If they didn't have bigger problems at hand, she'd have done the same to this one. A tragedy, in truth, that she must tolerate yet more unsolicited admiration. She expected the flirting as soon as she saw the way he looked at her. She was only surprised by the…poetry.

"Enchantress, you are a wild rose among wilting, weary daisies. Your eyes burn my soul with the fire of a thousand sunsets. Your hair is a river of midnight I would have flowing through my fingers—"

Morrigan supposed that he _had_ just demonstrated a fair amount of verbal talent, disarming and defeating Florianne in front of the entire court. It was a true feat of showmanship. Now if only he could _stop._

"Celene has named me official liaison to the Inquisition." She managed to get that out when the would-be charmer paused for breath.

The Inquisitor looked taken aback. "So…I save an empress' life, and she sends me…you."

"Indeed." Morrigan was thinking she might have to cause _some_ physical harm, depending on how this went, even if castration would be too extreme for a ball.

Adaar breathed in awe, "Maker's nutsack."

Morrigan snorted a surprised laugh, stifling it the next moment. _Not exactly one of "the faithful," so it seems…_

"This is the best reward ever."

"Indeed?" Morrigan remained calm. "Some have said that you prefer your rewards in gold and jewels."

"Enchantress, your eyes are purer than any gold, and your lips are jewels beyond compare! Your skin is priceless ivory—every inch of your person could not be fairer were it crusted with a thousand diamonds."

Morrigan was silent. She was not impressed.

"…And I already stole a shitload of crap from the palace anyway," Adaar grinned and shrugged.

_T'will be a remarkable feat if this Inquisition does indeed manage to save the world._

-o-

The End

(sort of)

The adventure continues in Clarence Adaar: Kleptomaniac Slut Falls in Love - coming soon, when I have time. XD


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